Online Confessions of a Teenager
by Awkward Markie
Summary: Serena has a crush on Andrew, who is dating Mina, who Darien is pretending to like because it allows him to be close to Serena. Unbeknownst to them, they are all writing diaries on the same website, where anyone can read and respond to their lives.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Sailor Moon. However, ONLINE is a fictional website created by me. The screen names that appear in the RESPONSES TO ENTRY sections of each chapter were also pulled from the dark recesses of my mind. If you or any of your acquaintances have a screen name similar to those used, well it is a coincidence. I didn't check to see if they were taken.

A.N.: Well, I'm back. I'm sorry for my long absence. I've just been waiting for an idea to come along that sparked the same inspiration as "Mystery Valentine," and I think I've found it in this story. Hopefully, you will agree because I sincerely will try to finish this one. It is written in my favorite style, so I'm really getting into it. It is a little different from the style of "Mystery Valentine," and you'll understand what I mean when you read it.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/16/04

9:08 PM eastern

Hello, World. My name is Bunny. Well, not really, but I do want to remain somewhat anonymous in this whole online diary thing. It would be just my luck to have someone I know offline read this thing and recognize the players in this little drama of mine. Then of course, the gossip mills will start spinning should copies of this entry be printed and passed out among the masses.

But hey, that's my life. I wouldn't be all that surprised if something along those lines does manage to happen, but that wouldn't curb the embarrassment, of course.

I guess you're a little curious to know what it is that could be so embarrassing. Well, my love life, of course. And what's so embarrassing about it? you ask. Well, there is the minor little thing of my being single. And wouldn't you know it, the guys aren't lining up outside my door. At least, they aren't lining up for me. For my sister, yes, but not for me. My dad's shotgun hasn't been polished in years.

It's sad.

_I'm_ sad.

No, I'm pathetic, because you haven't heard the worst of it.

I am secretly in love (Well, maybe not love. Who falls in _love_ love at sixteen?) with my sister's boyfriend.

Before you start throwing vegetables and decide to stop reading this, I need to tell you a few things about my sister. So, here's a list that I have put together to help you get an idea of who my sister is.

**Top 10 Things You Need to Know about My Sister Venus **(Her codename for this diary thingy)

**#10. She is the epitome of every blond joke you have ever heard.**

**#9. She sleeps with earplugs and one of those eyes masks to block out the light, yet always manages to toss a pillow at me sometime during the night because my snoring is keeping her awake. **

**#8. She is older by a year. Therefore, she feels it her right to have the side of the bedroom that includes the door to bathroom, and the closet, and the vanity set, and the stereo. I, however, get the side of the room with the kitty litter box, alarm clock, and dirty clothes hamper. **

**#7. She can drive. I can't. This is a huge example of unjust parental dictatorship because I am old enough to get my license, too (OK, my _restricted_). My parents, however, think that "one of their baby girls on the road" is enough. **

**#6. My sister has been Miss. Crossroads High two years running. What have I been two years running besides grounded after refusing to baby sit my little brother while Venus went to a party, where there was rumored to be a keg and pot? Well, I've been winner of the school journalistic award my freshman and sophomore year. The title will be mine again this year, too.**

**#5. She doesn't need to wear makeup, even though she covers her face with it every morning.**

**#4. She's a cheerleader, and, dammit, she looks good in the skirt. **

**#3. _She_ never had acne for four years of her life, like I did.**

**#2. She can eat as much as she wants, not exercise, and still gain absolutely no weight. I have to jog at least a mile to get rid of the calories gained from a fun sized pack of M&Ms.**

And the number one thing you need to know about my sister… (Drum roll, please.)

**#1. Her relationships with boys usually only last about a week.**

And the number one on that list is how I justify my falling in love with Arcade Dude (Venus's boy toy). In the first few weeks of their "dating" I just assumed the relationship wouldn't continue for very long, just like the last guy and the guy before him didn't linger in my sister's self-absorbed mind.

So, I didn't stop myself from blushing whenever I answered the door and he was on the other side. I didn't think twice when I laughed at all his jokes, even if they were as corny as….what's that state that grows all the corn?

Nevermind.

The point is (Yes, there is a point.) I didn't realize it was serious between the two of them till a month passed by and he gave her a single white rose (White roses means death, by the way. I remind myself that this does not mean he's stupid, but rather, a sign that he subconsciously wishes my sister dead.) to signify the one month they had been together.

And one month grew to two, and two to three. And here we are at month four and two days, and I still have a crush on my sister's official boyfriend.

I know it's wrong. Who falls for their sister's boyfriend and still has a soul?

And I guess what I'm thinking of doing now is even more morally wrong.

Because…I'm thinking up ways to steal him.

Does that make me evil?

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/16/04-9:23 PMeastern

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

Heck no, girl. There ain't nothing with wanting to steal your sister's man. Go for it! Now, tell me more about this Arcade Dude.

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Response: ViolinsAndBows

Well, going after your sister's boyfriend does seem somewhat wrong. But if you ask me, that sister of yours doesn't seem very nice. If you do go through with some kind of plan to try to get him for yourself, do it in a way that shows him your sister's bad side. Know what I mean? Be yourself, and get him to notice you, but not in a way that is out of your usual behavior.

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Response: BoiWidallDFun

What dude doesn't want two chicks after him?

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Response: AniIZmyLeADer

Any guy going after your sister doesn't seem worth your time. Get over him and quick.

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Response: IH8Dis

Get a makeover. Get a life.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/16/04

10:14 PM eastern

I realized just now that I'm getting too old for this—writing a diary, that is. I mean, how many other nineteen-year-old males are posting diary entries on this website? I'm sure that if someone bothered to study the number of guys on this site, the numbers would be surprisingly low. Well, not surprisingly.

Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed keeping up with this thing for the past four years, since that day I decided that I had to work out my problems with Stacy, the hot redhead in my sophomore science class. But I'm in college now.

Sure, I still have the everyday, run-of-the-mill problems, my annoying new roommate, Andrew, for example, who seems to be the biggest scumbag on the face of the earth. But keeping up with this diary seems to be getting harder now.

Despite, though, my age, my job as a waiter at a new local restaurant, and my otherwise demanding college courses, I think I still want to write this thing. It is a nice way to wind down at the end of the day, and sorting through my thoughts on the computer does help me sleep at night (I no longer stay up rethinking the events of the day over and over in my head in bed at night while trying to go to sleep.).

So, until I decide what to do, I guess I will continue this thing.

Now, on with my day:

Well, I must say it was rather boring today, aside from my new roomie's dating escapades.

This afternoon, he brought over brunette named Barbara, who had seen better days (at least I hoped she had) in the makeup department. I swear she looked like a skinny version of Mimi from _The Drew Carry Show_ with all that blue eye shadow she'd painted on her lids.

"Hey, Darien, buddy, could you leave for a few minutes?" Andrew asked me over Barbara's high-pitched giggles, caused by kisses he was leaving on her neck.

After only living with this guy for a little over two weeks, I've already gotten the "drill" down. A few minutes for Andrew are the equivalent of several hours. So, I grabbed my laptop and a few textbooks and headed for the library.

You want to know the really whacked thing about my roommate? He already has a girlfriend. Some really cute, if not a little ditzy, blond named Mina. According to Andrew, they have been going out a little over four months. He keeps a picture of her beside his bed, the same bed he fornicated on with Barbara today, no doubt.

I once asked him why he cheated on his girlfriend. He had laughed as he'd said, "Mina's sweet and all, but she won't put out."

Of course, this had made me, the boy who grew up listening to every word his mother had told him about treating a lady, upset—alright, downright pissed—at Andrew.

"If all you want is sex," I had asked him hotly, "then why do you hang on to the blond?"

"Listen, what I do is my business. So butt out."

And so, when I was introduced to Mina for the first time a few days later, I had remained quite, pitying the blond. It had gone against my better judgment, my silence. But Andrew, had been right, it wasn't my business.

That was before I had gotten to know Mina. But now that I have, I can't help but feel for her because of her clueless-ness. If I had to, I'd almost say she loved him, which only makes me madder at my roomie.

Now, I remain silent for fear of hurting Mina. She's sweet even if she is a little conceited. There's a good heart in there, one that doesn't deserve to be broken by a scumbag boyfriend.

I just hope she looses interest and dumps him.

No, I'm not interested in her. That is not why I want her to break up with him. Sure she's cute and stuff, but she's just not my type. She doesn't crank my tractor, as I've heard it put before.

I just want her to dump him, and give him what he deserves: a quick right hook to the face.

So, after I left, I spent a couple of hours in the library, working on a paper for my advanced chemistry class. When that was completed, I went back to the dorm room, only to find Andrew's sock looped around the doorknob, which signified he was otherwise "occupied," if you know what I mean, which I'm sure you do.

So, I knocked on the dorm room down the hall, and asked my buddy Chad if I could crash in his room for the night.

So here I am, sitting on my makeshift bed in the floor, writing this and hoping I'll finish it at an early hour. I have to work tomorrow and Sunday, and the alarm on my cell phone is already set.

Now, I bid goodnight to you.

So long,

Darien

Today's Useless Information: The average person has a total of six pounds of skin.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenTumbs-4/16/04-10:14 PMeastern

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Response: TheWoRlDsDed

If you can't stand your roommate so much, can't you change dorms? Then you won't have to put up with him.

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Response: IMdaManHo

Can I have Barbara's e-mail or number?

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Response: CoRnInDeEye

Maybe the jerk Andrew will get Barbara pregnant. Or maybe he'll get crabs or something. Whatever. He deserves something bad to happen to him.

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Response: SpeaksMyMind

Your roommate's a jerk. If I was that Mina girl, I'd want to be told about my scumbag boyfriend. Then, I'd kick him in his balls so hard he'd never be able to use them again. Lol. You seem like a nice enough guy. If you did tell her the truth, I don't think she would kill the messenger.

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Response: IH8Dis

Your roommate is an asshole.

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A.N.: I hope you liked it. As always, I like you review to tell me your thoughts, idea's, and, yes, criticisms. Sorry for any, misspellings or typos. I checked it, but I was in suck a hurry to post I'm sure I missed a few things. Oh! For later chapters, I was wondering if anyone wanted to donate suggestions for screen names that could be used in later responses from the diary readers. If you have any, feel free to put them in a review. 


	2. Chapter Two

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Sailor Moon. Duh!

A.N.: I'M BACK! I could give a hundred excuses right now for why I haven't posted anything new, but none of them will be good enough. Truly, I am sorry for the long…long…long wait. Hopefully, this chapter will, momentarily, appease you. Heh heh. Anyway, I have been brainstorming this story after reading all your wonderful reviews (Thank you, by the way), enough that I have the outlines to the next three or so chapters. Those of you who were upset at Andrew's playboy attitude, I think I found a solution, which, actually, helped me come up with the plot for this story. So THANK YOU bunches, KrysatalNeko, for complaining! Although, my solution is not what many of you are probably expecting. Andrew will NOT suddenly have a change of heart and realize what a stupid-ass he is. You will just have to wait until about Chapter Four to find out what I did. (laughs evilly)

Someone requested an age chart to keep characters straight, so here are the ages as well as the nicknames Serena gave them in her journal (Some character's may not have appeared yet.):

Serena (Bunny): 16

Darien (Blue Eyes/Roommate): 19

Andrew (Arcade Dude): 21

Mina (Venus): 17

Raye (Mars): 18

Lita (Jupiter): 16

Amy (Mercury): 16

Ilene (Mom)?

Ken (Dad)?

Sammy (Brat): about 11

Chad (No nickname yet): 19

Sorry I ranted so long. Now, on with the story!

CHAPTER TWO…

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/17/04

8:19 PM eastern

I'm writing rather early tonight. I guess it's because my day was pretty boring, and at the risk of being even more bored, I'm trying to waste a few minutes on this.

Let's see…what happened today?

Not much.

Andrew didn't even bring over a new girl. In fact, he went over to Mina's house, or at least that's where he said he was going this afternoon. I'm assuming he's still over there, since he's not back yet. Or, maybe he stopped at Barbara's place on the way back here.

Who knows?

So, I went to work today, at that new restaurant. It was fairly busy, so tips were plentiful and surprisingly generous. And aside from the woman who thought my ass was good enough to pinch, the people were fairly pleasant to serve. No one complained about the service or food.

Well, except for this one guy who complained about how hot the coffee was after he spilled it on himself. Luckily, I wasn't his waiter. Poor, Raye, however, had to deal with the man's dour mood, but she took it all in stride. I could tell she wanted to speak her mind—or rather, yell her mind—but she bit her tongue—hard, I imagine.

My dad called today after I got home to see how I was doing. Or, rather, he called to see if I hadn't dropped out. He calls every week, asks how I'm doing, and then goes in the spiel about how rewarding it is to be an architect and how great it feels to have something you dreamed up created.

Of course, it was his dream that I became an architect, like him, and now he wants to "create" that dream. Never mind a doctor, or lawyer, or a gardener, which I have secretly thought would be right up my alley for several years now. But my father would never listen to me if I told him that I didn't want to design buildings, and that I, in fact, want to design lawns and gardens.

A part of me wants to tell him, and another part doesn't, arguing that if I just do as he wants he'll eventually shut up. But now that I think about it, I realize that he'll just continue to bug me. He'll never stop. Eventually, once I graduate, he'll call once a week to see how my job is going and analyze any blueprints I design.

It will never end.

This, more than anything, has me dreading my future career. How can I please my dad, and stop him from butting in on my life?

I can change my major to landscape design, disappoint him, but get him to stop putting in his two scents. Or, I can just live my life the way he wants, with him there every step of the way making my life miserable.

Dammit, I don't want to design houses or office buildings or the new, even bigger Wal-Mart! I want to be the landscaper people call in to redo the yard of the house they just had built by some guy who likes his job as an architect. I want some rich old lady to hire me to redo her garden, hopping the bright colorful flowers will take her mind off her newly deceased husband.

I came so close today to telling him off. But right when I was about to open my mouth and tell him how I felt, I saw him as he was on the day of my mother's funeral.

I've told you before about my mom's death, but I don't think I ever went into great detail about it, or the ovarian cancer that slowly ate away at her spirit. I never told you about the damn doctors, either, who took away that last bit of spirit, did I?

Sorry, I'm venting.

It was hard on both of us, my father and I, to watch my mom's long black hair thin every morning when she brushed it because of the chemotherapy. I would sit with her during her treatments, reading to her out of the newest Karen Robards novel, while her eyes were closed. Mom had always liked her romance books.

I wasn't with her when she died. I was at home, asleep, but Dad was there with her. We've never talked about it. My aunt, who had been there with my father when my mom passed on, had told me sadly, later, that Mom had sighed in her sleep and then had been gone.

Just like that. One sigh and she was gone forever.

At the funeral, dad had cried. I'd never seen a man cry outside the movies, so it had been a shock, more so than my mom's death, I have to say. In way, I had been ready for her death ever since the doctor explained the lump on her abdomen. But nothing had prepared me for Dad's weakness. For, where my mom had been his strength, her death had been his Achilles heel.

It was after that that he had started living again, only through me. Of course, this is only my amateur-high-school-psychology-class analysis of him.

Then again, you don't want to hear any of this, do you? I'm sure everyone's had enough of teen angst. No, you want to hear more gossip about Andrew and his girls. But I don't have any of my roomie's scandals to regal you with tonight. So, instead you have to suffer through my angst because it's all I have on my mind right now. And, hopefully, in writing this, I will get enough of it out of my system that I can sleep tonight.

The summery of me: I'm nineteen. I write in an online diary. And the loss of my mother allows my father run my life.

Can you say: loser?

Well, that's it for today.

Darien

Today's Useless Information: An eyelash lives for about 150 days before it falls out.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenTumbs-4/17/04-8:19 PMeastern

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Response: NYsubwayMan

I have problems with my own family, man. Everyone does. I say tell your pops how you feel, and let him deal with it. Sorry about your mom.

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Response: MuhBuTTitches

Join the circus. Now THAT will make your dad happy.

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Response: CoRnInDeEye

You could always change you major without telling your dad. Sure, there would be a lot of lying involved, but I think you could pull it off.

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Response: SpeaksMyMind

Do what you want to do in life. So what if your dad is mad at you for a while? He'll get over. Besides, landscaping isn't that different from architecture. You can still dream up something and get a sense of satisfaction out of seeing it come to life. Explain that to your dad. If he loves you so much that he continually consults you on your life, he's bound to get over whatever problems he has with your change in major once he realizes he could lose his son. Also, talk to him about your mom.

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Response: IH8Dis

Loser.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/17/04

9:32 PM eastern

OK, World, I'm starting to regret this whole diary thing. I mean what if someone I know actually does read this! Absolutely no one knows of my crush on Arcade Dude. What if one of them discovers this site and this diary! I'd be doomed! Doomed I tell you!

I must think positively, like what are the chances my friends, sister, or Arcade Dude will find this site, let alone this little diary at the very back of all the others? I mean, the title isn't even memorable or eye catching. Heck, I'm not even giving real names; so even if someone I know does happen to read this, what are the chances they'd recognize the author as me? No worries, right?

Right?

Alright, time to change the subject to something more interesting like my day. OK, OK. So that isn't all that interesting, but it's better than my rambling.

So, anyway, I walked home from work today, as usual, and since today was Saturday, I had to spend eight hours at the bookstore with Ms. Tight-Ass (my boss) instead of the usual two that I spend at the bookstore after school on a weekday. She was in her usual I-have-a-pool-stick-shoved-up-my-butt mood today, and so by the time I headed home, I had a rather sour disposition.

And to top it all off, Nasty Magazine Guy, the man who sells newspapers and "other stuff" on the corner of the street yelled another crude comment my way when I passed by. This time I think is was "Nice ass," which is G-rated for him. Besides, it made me feel more confident about my butt, which I had been starting to get a little self-conscious about.

Maybe, I should invest in some more of those stretch jeans.

But when I arrived home, my feet dragging on the sidewalk, I saw that Arcade Dude's car was parked in front of out town house. Needless to say, my feet hadn't dragged the rest of the way to the front door. More like hovered six—no eight—inches above the ground.

Of course, my steps sort of faltered when I walked in the front door saw Venus and Arcade Dude snuggled together on the sofa. The little green monster of jealousy started to grow, but since Arcade Dude isn't mine, I'd had to beat that little leprechaun into submission.

We exchanged heys, and I plopped down in a sofa chair and feigned interest in the movie they were watching. But you can only see _Mrs. Doubtfire_ so many times before the novelty wears off.

"Where's everybody?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh Mom's, at her usual poker night, and Dad's somewhere. I think he said he was going to some pet store to buy more fish. Brat is upstairs playing video games with a friend. Speaking of upstairs," she said, giving me pointed look, "why don't you scram?"

I ignored her question and leaned back in the chair. "I guess that makes me your chaperone while the parents are gone."

"We don't need a chaperone," Venus said, glaring.

"Sure you do. Don't you, Arcade Dude?"

Of course, when we really had this conversation, I called my sister's boyfriend by his real name, not Arcade Dude. The same goes for Brat, our little brother.

Without taking his eyes away from the television, Arcade Dude answered, "Yeah, sure."

Sure, I hadn't had his full attention, and I might as well have been asking him if he crapped purple. But the fact of the matter was, he agreed with me. Me!

Then again, it was because of me that he suffered from a swift punch to the arm from my slightly mad and pouty sister. After the punch, though, Arcade Dude started to pay a lot more attention to my sister, or rather, her mouth.

Just my luck it seems.

So, while they spent the next thirty minutes sucking face, I escaped to my/our bedroom where I spent my time until dinner reviewing what little I knew about Arcade Dude, which really wasn't much.

Let's see…

Known facts about Arcade Dude: He's twenty and a junior at the local college. He likes to wear his short blond hair spiked up with gel. He also wears contacts so glasses won't hide his green eyes.

Arcade dude loves: Rock, burgers, basketball, and my sister's belly ring. Oh, and my sister.

Arcade Dude hates: Classical music (which I like), reading (which I can't get enough of), tofu (I strongly agree with him there), and chicks with big thighs (which I have).

It sounds like I need to put down the books and start loosing weight, but I can read a book while jogging on a treadmill, can't I? I'll try it later.

When Mom got back from winning this weeks grocery money at poker, she invited Arcade Dude to stay for dinner. He agreed to stay. So, I was forced to watch him play footsy with Venus throughout dinner, which was depressing enough as it was, but then I had to listen to my sister regal us with plans for prom, with Arcade Dude as her date.

As you can guess, I hadn't been all that happy. Depressed, is a better fitting word.

But dinner did give me some insight in the Venus/Arcade Dude relationship. The big thing to notice was the way the two communicated, or didn't communicate, that is. Venus talked; Arcade Dude listened. Arcade Dude said something; Venus would pretend to listen.

If he was _my_ boyfriend, I'd make sure we talked.

But as it is now, I can't get near him without stuttering or blushing. If he ever did ask me out, I'm sure I'd get over my shyness. I hope so, at least…

"So, how's school, Arcade Dude?" Dad asked, always wanting to know whether or not a potential future son-in-law would have enough in the bank to support his daughter.

That's Dad, always looking out for our well behalf.

"School's fine. I got a new roommate."

"Oh, what happened to your last one?" Mom wanted to know.

"He was kicked out for writing and selling other essays and midterm papers to other students."

"There are people really doing that at your school? I hope you didn't purchase any of those papers."

"No, ma'am, I didn't."

And for some reason, I had thought he was lying when he had said that, which, for some reason, had put me off. It wasn't necessarily that he got credit for something he didn't write, (which does grate against my do-it-yourself policy on life) but that he lied to my mom, which is a major sin in my book.

My mom is the most gullible person there is. If you told her that the chocolate in M&Ms was soy, she'd stock up on them because she'd think they were a healthy snack. Tell her that scientists have finally found a way to bring back the dinosaurs, and she'd start dino-proofing the house.

"Well, good for you. So who's your new roommate?"

"His name is, Roommate, and he's a freshman. He's studying to be an architect."

The roommate has a real name, of course, but Roommate is my rather clever (Don't you think? lol) pseudonym for Arcade Dude's roommate.

"He sounds like a nice young man. Why don't you bring him for dinner tomorrow night? You can make it to Sunday dinner, can't you?"

I know, I know. "Nice young man?" Well, that's what my mom said at dinner. I swear. She is a stay at home, ex-librarian, who talks as if she's living in the 1950's. But, its part of Mom's charm, and you can't help but love her for it, even if it is annoying at times.

But she does have a wild streak. She burned her bra at a protest during the '60's and even led a feminist group for a while before she married Dad, a MD, and quit her job at the library to raise us kids. Then there are the poker games she attends every week, which she usually comes home afterwards with a ton of cash and some woman's new watch.

But, you'd never know she had a wild side unless you lived with her.

"Yes, ma'am, I can make it tomorrow night. I'll see if he's busy. If not, I'll invite him to come along."

Dad and Arcade Dude then started to talk about college and Arcade Dude's plans to one day be and MD. This, of course, puts him on my dad's good side. Dad has even offered him a job at his practice when Arcade Dude graduates, which is about another five years from now, if you include the rest of grad school and medical school.

Dad, as you can see, likes to plan far into the future, which is why he and my mother hadn't gotten married until they had picked out a house, chosen names for at least four future offspring, whose college funds they started before they were even born.

There is still a fourth college fund in the bank for an unborn child. I think my siblings will agree with me when I say I hope it becomes a vacation fund. There is enough chaos in the house as it is. The last thing we need is another baby, which I will undoubtedly get stuck babysitting for when everyone else in the house finds something to do on his or her Friday nights. I'm sure they'd think: "Well, Bunny spends her Fridays at home anyway." While Venus would add: "Since she has no life."

At around nine o'clock, Arcade Dude decided it was time to leave. So, he and Venus went out on the front porch to "say their goodbyes." They really made out for half an hour. I didn't have to peek out the front window to confirm this assumption, either. Venus's smudged lipstick and tousled hair was all the proof I needed.

I can sort of understand their need to kiss, but on the front porch, with our parents just on the other side of the door, watching the evening news? With Dad's gun cabinet just a room away?

Anyway, I took a shower while they said goodbye, and after that, started on this. So, I guess I'm finished for tonight, since there really isn't anything left to say other than goodnight.

So goodnight, world.

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/17/04-9:32 PMeastern

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

You know, that guy of yours doesn't seem like your type. No offence. But he seems like some kinda jock. From the way you sound, I can't picture you with a jock.

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Response: LastBREATH

Lol. Your dad sounds like mine, with the whole planning ahead and stuff. If I weren't an only child, I'd almost wonder if you were my sister. Anywho, how do you plan to steal your sister's boy toy?

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Response: IH8Dis

Girl, I say stop drooling over your sister's man and find your own. One who doesn't suck up to your dad.

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A.N.: Hoped you liked it! I am very into this story. You wouldn't think so, with my lack of posting, but, really, I like it so much I was almost afraid of posting. I kinda wanted to keep it to myself, away from copycats, but I then realized how silly that was. I have all my faithful readers out there as spys! lol. So until next time…review and tell me what you think! he he HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Shout Outs:

SerenityChild16: Yup, this story will remain in diary format.

Tro-Tro: Thank you! If you find any more mistakes, feel free to point them out.

way2beme: LOL! You helped with in my planning of the plot of this story, by the way, not going to say how, but you'll see. Sorry that my update wasn't soon.

LunaScoobyGurl: Thank you!

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed. You guys are awesome.


	3. Chapter Three

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Sailor Moon. blah blah… But this plot is mine! clutches story to chest It's my new baby.

A.N.: I'M ALIVE! I'm not sure for how long, since I know many of you might want to strangle me for the long wait. gulps To explain my absence, I have one word for you: school. But now it's summer vacation. dances around Sorry, everyone, for the long wait, but guess what? Here is the looong awaited chapter, and when I say "long awaited" I don't necessarily mean the time it took me to post. In this chapter (the longest chapter yet!) SERENA AND DARIEN FINALLY MEET! Oh, one thing you might notice is that I changed the month of the diaries from June to April so the characters could still be in school. I had to repost chapters one and two so the all the chapters would match. lol. Now, I will shut up.

CHAPTER THREE…

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/18/04

10:06 PM eastern

Today, I had to get up early because it's Sunday, and like most of America, my family went to church, where I spent two hours trying to pay attention to the preacher's words. So, in an effort to stay alert, I began to fan out a Winter Fresh gum wrapper and slowly peel the silver outside cover away from the inside wax with my thumbnail.

My mother made no comment on my choice of entertainment. She did, however, find the gum to be much more offensive to the powers above, and made me spit it out in a napkin forged from the bottom of her purse (And this coming from a woman who gambles. Anyone else see the irony?)

Brat found a great amount of humor over The Battle of Winter Fresh, so I took it upon myself to kick him in the shin as we stood for hymnal. Bless his tiny soul, the grimace was barely even noticeable. I liked to think that, somewhere, God had been smacking away at a piece of Bubble Yum.

Little had I known, the jury had still been out, convening on my sentence, and court wouldn't be resumed until much later on in the day.

Anyway, after church, and the ritualistic handshake at the door on the way out with the preacher, or as I called him as a child and continue to call him in my mind, Mr. Preacher, I caught up with Jupiter (another clever pseudonym, if I do say so), one of my few church buddies, the rest of the people my age having begged sick, claimed they were on a spiritualistic journey to search out for the right religion for them (the Church of Playstation Twos and Doritos), or just plain skipped out, having met up with other rebellious teens in the cemetery for the duration of the service.

Of course, here in The South (yes, I live in THE South, albeit a very suburban south, but south nonetheless), where the Baptists run free and a man coming drunk to a wedding or funeral is not unheard of, there is no real excuse for not being in church. Though, most teenagers would probably argue that point.

In my house, everyone is up, dressed, and ready in time for service (even Venus can't get out of church). The only way my mother would even consider letting me stay home is if I had a fever of 100 or more. Maybe if I was hospitalized, too, but she might have Mr. Preacher stop in sometime to let me know that he was praying from me.

Anyway, as customary, after church, there is lunch, but instead of going with my family, Jupiter and I hoped into her old Ford Tarus (_her_ parents have no qualms with their daughter driving).

Ever since Jupiter got wheels, I've skipped out on going to lunch with my parents at Ryan's Steak House, which is where they always insist on going. Course, the only reason Mom let's me go with Jupiter is because it's one less adult mega bar she has to pay for and more of her poker money going towards herself.

So, Jupiter and I decided we'd try the new restaurant, Farley's, which turned out to be a lot like Applebee's, only the interior was less formal (the lighting wasn't dimmed and the windows weren't tinted) and the walls seemed to be a memorial dedicated to Chris Farley.

The Farley's greeter was a girl about my age, if not a tad older. I could tell she was stressed from the look in her blue-violet eyes. She wasn't exactly the perky greeter that you'd normally expect upon entering a restaurant either, but that didn't seem to be slowing business any.

From over her shoulder, I saw there was quite a group gathered in the room, the style of dress ranging from causal jeans to slightly formal church attire, which put me at ease. Forced to wear a skirt, blouse, panty hose, and heels (man I hate heels!), I didn't feel as out of place as I'd normally feel in, say, McDonald's or Bi-Lo.

However big the turnout, though, the haggard teen hostess found us a table in the non-smoking section.

She gave the usual spiel a person expects to hear when shown to their table: "Here are your menus; your waiter will be with you shortly." Then, I watched as her eyes gleamed at us, and she gave us a secretive smile that girls like to give each other when they know something. She leaned in, and we inclined our heads in expectantly. "And a fine looking waiter he is, too."

Winking at us, she tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and turned away.

I raised an eyebrow at Jupiter, who just shrugged, a smile in place, and I could tell visions of boxer-clad waiters, serving her margaritas (virgin of course) were roaming though her head.

I just shook my head with suppressed laughter, opening my menu to scan the choices.

During my debate over mozzarella sticks or something called the "Chris Farley Special" I heard, "What will you ladies be drinking this afternoon?" asked in one of the most—and I'm not kidding when I say—sexy, deep baritone voices I have ever heard.

Well, excluding Sean Connery. Now, that's a voice that can make a girl swoon.

Anyway, as I was saying.

I, of course, being the smart girl that I am, did not immediately look up from the menu to see if the owner was just as "fine" as the hostess claimed him to be. My eyes, however, did pause on the menu and slide their focus to the side a little bit, but all I could see, do to my sitting position, was one of those black aprons containing a number of straws and napkins buried within its deep pockets that waiters and waitresses always seemed to have tied around their waists.

Calmly I turned to the beverage page of the menu, as if studying it for the first time.

Jupiter ordered an iced tea, and I continued to stare at the drink choices.

"And, you miss? You'll be having?"

Slowly, I looked up, and—unintentionally, I might add—my eyes came in contact with that of the waiter's. I had been aiming for his forehead because, while I love Arcade Dude, I can't help but be a little flustered and intimidated by hot guys. And making eye contact with hot guys can be a little unnerving for me.

As you can tell, I'm my sister's opposite.

Anyway, somehow I managed to be caught in this guy's blue eyes. And let me tell you, they were a shade of blue right out of a romance novelist's dream. They were a dark, cerulean. If the color was found in a Crayola box, the crayon would be labeled "Stormy Caribbean Blue."

But you want to know the odd part about all of it? I have never—I repeat, never—been so…captivated by a guy's eyes that I entered one of those trances I always read about in romance novels in which the room around us fades away, as if in a B-rated movie.

Not even Andrew's emerald eyes have cast such a "spell" over me. And, yet, as that thought flitted through my mind, knowing I should feel guilty because I had feelings for Arcade Dude (so what if he doesn't return them), our eyes remained locked, as if someone was holding our heads in place.

It took Jupiter's swift kick to my shin for me to jerk back to reality.

I blinked. "Oh, uh, a Pepsi, please."

He nodded, casually writing down my drink order, seemingly unaffected by what just happened. I had to wonder if I was the only one affected and that he had only been starring into my eyes because he had been waiting for me to order.

"Thank you. I'll be back in a minute with your drinks and to take your order."

And just as calmly as he had taken our order after our "look," he strode away, which left me staring in his direction, confused and little more than unnerved.

"Do you mind telling me what that was about?"

Feigning stupidity, I asked, "What was what about?"

"Don't play innocent with me, missy," Jupiter said. "You don't do a very good job at it. I have never seen eye contact like that before. So, you either explain or I'll— "

"Or you'll what?" I asked, returning slowly to my normal state of mind, not the gooey mess I had been before.

"I'll think of something. But in the mean time, you might as well spill the goods." She leaned forward as the hostess had earlier.

"There's nothing to tell. My mind was elsewhere, and I looked up when I was addressed, only to stare vacantly at his face."

"Cut the BS, Bunny. Have you met him before? Do you think you knew him a long time ago, and you had, like, a déjà vu moment when you looked into his eyes? What was it, huh?"

I sighed because I knew I'd never hear the end of it. "I don't know what it was."

She sagged a little in her chair, disappointed. Then she perked up. "You know, he looks a lot like my old boyfriend."

"Jupiter, according to you, everything with testosterone looks like your old boyfriend."

"Not true," she said defensively. "I find no resemblance in women who take steroids and my last boyfriend."

"What about animals?"

"Well, my last boyfriend was a dog…"

As we laughed, the blue-eyed waiter returned with our drinks, and I tried to pretend as if nothing had happened.

"So, what will you ladies be having today?" he asked, his voice just as silky as before.

Oh brother, since when did I start using words like silky to describe a man's voice? OK, that's it. No more romance novels. No more watching _Bridget Jones's Diary_ and _Sleepless in Seattle_ on DVD. And, no more eavesdropping to Venus's phone calls when she talks about Arcade Dude's "soft, demanding lips" and his "silky, lusty voice!"

Jupiter ordered first, getting a basket of hot wings, and I followed by ordering the mozzarella sticks, which had been less expensive than the "Chris Farley Special."

Smiling, Mr. Hot Stud Muffin Waiter, left with our orders.

"Omygosh, Bunny! Did you see his ass?" Jupiter hollered, in what had to be a decibel higher than her raging Go-Panthers! (our school mascot) voice, reserved only for school football games and pep rallies.

I buried my head in my hands, mortified. I just knew the waiter heard her. How could he not? Plus, the rest of the restaurant's patrons were giving us some looks, which caused me to blush deeply. Even the hostess who had seated us earlier was glancing at our table, but at least she wasn't glaring, like some of the others were. No, the dark-haired girl was smiling. And when I dared to peek out behind my hands at her, she winked and returned her gaze towards the door and the family of four coming in through it.

"Jupiter, could you have been any louder? I'm right here, you know."

She shrugged. "Hey, the guy has nice buns. I was just letting the world know it."

"Well, I think the whole universe knows now. When little Martians decide to land on this planet, they are not only going to want to be taken to our leader. They'll also want to meet the waiter with the nice buns!"

Then, because I couldn't help it, I busted out in nervous laughter.

"Bunny, it's ok, really. I'm sure the guy was flattered. Besides, it could have been worse."

"Oh, yeah? And how's that?" I had asked.

"Well, I might not have been able to stop my hand from reaching out and squeezing those nice, round…"

"I get the picture." I deadpanned.

She smiled impishly, to which I rolled my eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden image of a certain set of buttocks, clad in black slacks.

Arcade Dude, I chanted in my mind. Think of Arcade Dude.

"You know," I said, changing the subject. "How is it that we remain friends, even though we are nothing alike?"

"Well, I think it is because we are so different. You know, your innocence counterbalances my, err, experience. Your tendency to be a stick-in-the-mud balances out my tendency to be a wild child. And so on."

"I'm am not that innocent—not after being around you—and I am not a stick-in-the-mud."

"Sure you are. You never do anything spontaneous or off the wall."

"Sure I do," I argued.

"Oh yeah? When? When have you ever done something outrageous?"

I searched my brain for something worthy of being "outrageous" and sadly enough, I couldn't really think of anything, well aside from that day I skipped school, but even then, my parents had known about it beforehand. My mom had agreed that my cramps were a good enough reason to stay home. I mean, they were _really_ painful that day.

"Um, I can't think of anything at the moment," I said weakly. "I'll think of something later, though."

The smirk on Jupiter's glossy lips had been enough to have me reevaluating myself. Was I really that much of a bore? I mean, was I the equivalent to a real life Thelma from _Scooby Doo_? But then I realized that even Thelma was brave enough to chase down ghosts with a gang of hippies.

Our food arrived somewhere in the middle of my brief moment of introspection, and somehow or another, I had enough sense to remember to eat.

"Jupiter?" I asked somewhere around my forth mozzarella stick. "Am I really that boring? I mean, is that why I don't have a boyfriend? Because everyone immediately overlooks the dull sister and goes for the older, more fun and outgoing one?"

"Oh please, Bunny, your sister is nothing compared to you," Jupiter had stated, heatedly after dropping one of her hot wings back in the basket.

But, if Jupiter was right, then why was Arcade Dude with Venus?

Lita, not finished, continued. "You aren't boring, just cautious—I was just kidding with you before when I called you a stick-in-the-mud. You're smart, pretty, and funny. I mean, you crack me up all the time! Your sister is nothing but a floozy."

I laughed. "A floozy? Are we still in the fifth grade?"

"No, but weren't those the good ol' days?" she asked, changing the subject now that that I was laughing.

"Oh yeah, those were the days when you could actually tell if a guy liked you because he, you know, chased you around the playground."

"Hey," Jupiter said, pointing a finger at me. "Don't make fun of the playground romances. Those were some of my best boyfriends. They never left me because another girl was more willing to have sex with them."

"Yeah, they left you because you could out burp them."

I received a French fry to the face for that comment.

"And you're right," I added after I sent a scathing look towards Jupiter for the fry. "Those were some of my best romances, too, and so uncomplicated."

"Yeah," Jupiter had snickered, "The whole courtship was a letter saying 'Do you like me? Check yes, no, or maybe.' Or, if the couple was really daring, a few moments of handholding on the playground."

We laughed, pausing only when Mr. Hot Buns and Blue Eyes, showed up to ask if we wanted dessert or not.

While Jupiter and I glanced over the desserts, he stood to the side.

I was salivating over a particular picture of some chocolate concoction, when Jupiter asked, "Remember that guy in the third grade? The one who gave you a picture of himself for Christmas?"

Apparently, she had no problem talking in front of the waiter, so I decided to pretend he wasn't there either. Besides, it wasn't as if we were talking about anything personal like panty sizes or anything.

So, summoning the image of one of my previous—long ago previous—boyfriends, I blushed slightly.

"It was a sweet gift, the picture frame, that is," I laughed.

"I wonder whatever happened to him. What was his name?"

"Johnny," I supplied for her.

"That's right! Johnny! Remember what you got him?"

I laughed again in remembrance. "A cheesy Christmas card and a stick-on tattoo; I never have been good at getting guys gifts."

"Well, his wasn't all that spectacular either, so don't feel bad."

"Gosh," I said seriously, "I wonder where he is. He moved away when we were in the sixth grade, remember?"

She nodded silently, returning to the menu.

Having already decided, I turned to our silent waiter and politely ordered the thing in the picture, while at the same time trying to avoid his eyes.

The last thing I wanted was to lock gazes again. It may have been a fluke, but I wasn't about to let it happen again, whatever "it" had been.

Then, he was gone again, once Jupiter ordered her peach cobbler.

He returned a few minutes later with our dessert and the bill, saying he would be back to pick it up later.

After taking the first bite of the brownie/cake, I sighed with pleasure. Heaven, pure heaven.

"Enjoying that are you?" Jupiter asked, her eyebrows rising as she watched me fork another large bite into my mouth.

Unable to speak, I nodded happily, my lips curved into a smile.

I was taking another bite when Jupiter suddenly exclaimed, "I got it!"

My reaction: "Huh?"

"You want to do something daring right? Completely against you nature?"

My reaction: "Um—"

"Exactly! Well, I have the perfect thing for you to do to, you know, prove to yourself that you can be a risk taker."

"Wait a minute," I said calmly, slowly starting to understand her. "If I recall correctly, it was you who thought I could stand to live a little more. Not me."

"Well, that may be true, but I know that deep down, you want to prove to the world that you can be wild. Spontaneous. Dangerous."

"You sound like an advertisement for white-water rafting."

"Bunny, be serious here. I have yet to see you do one spontaneous thing. I would like to see you do something…outrageous."

"Jupiter, you're scaring me."

"Come on. Do it!"

"OK, first you tell me I'm boring. Then you backtrack and say that I'm not, and now you're backtracking again and trying to get me to do something 'spontaneous.' Make up your mind, woman! What am I, droll or dull?"

"You are fun, Bunny," she said. "But I know there is a part of you wondering what it's like to drive beyond the speed limit."

"I don't drive, remember?"

"OK, bad example. But I know there is a part of you wondering what it would be like to talk back to a teacher or break the dress code at school. And don't deny it, Bunny. All good girls wonder what it's like to be the bad girl. Why do you think so many of them end up with a bad boy?"

For some odd reason, I found logic in that, and it almost frightened me. Was I really going to end up with some tattooed, cigarette smoking, tough talking, I-ride-a-Harley kind of guy? I almost shivered at the thought.

I tried to think of a way to get out of doing whatever it was that Jupiter was concocting in her mind, even if I was just a tiny bit curious as to what that concoction was.

"Well, if you have my moment of daringness planned already, then it won't be that spontaneous, will it?"

"Spontaneity, would have only been a bonus. Now, are you ready to listen?"

"No."

"Well too bad. You're going to hear me out anyway."

I groaned. She ignored me.

"When that hot waiter comes to pick up the bill, you pinch his cute little bottom."

I was mortified at the idea. Girls just do go around and pinch guys in the butt! Do they? Well, no self-respecting girl, at least.

But you want to know the weird thing? I did it anyway. That's right, I, Bunny, pinched a guy on the butt. I have no idea what made me do it either. Sure, Jupiter was hounding me about it, but I never _had_ to do it. Yet, for some reason I did.

When that blue-eyed waiter came over for the bill, Jupiter and I stood up, ready to leave, after making sure that there was a VERY large tip waiting for the soon-to-be-sexually-harassed-by-me waiter.

I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the blush staining my neck and cheeks, looked the waiter in the eyes, determined, and said, "I'm so sorry for this," and reached around behind him to pinch is rear-end.

Then, I bolted for the door, of course.

But that's not where the story ends. Oh no, not at all.

Normally, the interesting stuff about my day would end here, but wouldn't you know it, it doesn't.

Because it is Sunday, and every Sunday, we have Sunday night dinner. And if everyone recalls correctly, my mom invited Arcade Dude and his roommate to Sunday night dinner.

And wouldn't you know it, when I answered the door for Arcade Dude and his roommate (because Venus was upstairs "getting ready," Mom was cooking in the kitchen, Dad was watching the six o'clock news, and Brat was somewhere doing who's know what) there, standing on my porch, was none other than Arcade Dude and Mr. Waiter Good Lookin'.

When I pinched his butt at the restaurant, I had rationalized that the chances I'd ever see the waiter again were slim. I figured that if I never saw him again, then there would never be that awkward hey-you-pinched-my-ass moment; therefore, I really had no reason to be nervous.

Of course, that didn't keep me from blushing and thinking about the incident the whole afternoon.

But there he was, standing on my front porch, looking as surprised as I felt.

And the only thing I could think to say?

"You!" I gasped out, mortified, a blush once again staining my cheeks.

My first thought was that the waiter had somehow tracked me down. Then I realized how stupid that was, and logic finally dawned on me: the waiter was Arcade Dude's roommate!

At that moment, I really started to wonder if I had ticked someone powerful off. Lady Destiny? Mr. Coincidence?

And then I remembered. The gum in church. Had God really decided to punish me for chewing gum in church? Did He really have a thing against Winter Fresh? Was He a Juicy Fruit kinda guy?

I knew one thing, and that was if this was my punishment, I was never going to chew gum, my nails, my tongue, or anything else again in church.

Before I could slam the door in his face and run upstairs to my room, bury my head in a pillow on my bed and wait to wake up, Mina decided to grace us with her presence downstairs. She opted to dress casually, but still had on makeup.

"Hi Arcade Dude. Hi, Blue Eyes," she said, flaunting up to the door, shoving me out of the way in the process so she could give Arcade Dude a huge opened mouth kiss.

In case you haven't realized, Blue Eyes is the codename I'm giving Arcade Dude's roommate. I've had time to think about what his nickname should be, and, well, I can't help it if _Mickey Blue Eyes_ is one of my favorite movies.

At any rate, I tried to ignore Blue Eyes, and even more, I tired to ignore the couple making out on our doorstep because I didn't feel like battling the green leprechaun of jealousy in my weakened, horribly embarrassed state.

Luckily, my mom called at that moment, needing help in the kitchen. Uncertain, I looked at the couple then at Blue Eyes.

"Sorry," I told the dark haired roommate/waiter, not knowing if I was apologizing for the day's earlier incident or for leaving him on the porch with my sister going at her boyfriend in the doorway, making it impossible for him to cross the threshold without shoving the two of them aside. It just seemed like the right thing to say at the moment.

From here, I can go into details about dinner. About how both my parents took a shining to Blue Eyes. About how I fell down the stairs while chasing my brother, who stole my newest romance novel and started to read some of the—uh hmm—racier pages aloud before dinner. About how, when I fell, Blue Eyes caught me in his arms and there was another one of those creepy the-world-around-us-fades-away moments.

But I won't. Partially because I really don't have the patience this late at night to write down every detail (which I know you want) without skipping right to the part where we said goodnight. But mainly because my fingers are cramped, I think I'm getting carpel's tunnel, my eyes won't stay open, and Venus is complaining about the light my computer is giving off.

But I will tell you that, when I took Blue Eyes aside after dinner and explained the whole butt-pinching thing, he seemed remarkably cool about it. I mean, he didn't, you know, say that he found it flattering or anything, but he didn't seem pissed off either.

If fact, he said something like…What was it now? Oh yeah, "It's OK, I'm just glad you're not like some girls who go around thinking that guys like that sort of thing and find it a turn on."

Now, I have to remember to tell Jupiter that guys don't like their asses pinched. I think it may break her heart, but maybe this tidbit of insight into the man's mind may prove to result in some progress in her relationships with guys.

What I want to know, however, is why, with all the non-ass-pinching I do, do I not have a boyfriend?

Maybe, I'm not not pinching the right butts.

Who am I kidding? There is only one butt I want, and that's Arcade Dude's.

Oh gosh! Did I just type that! I never say things like that! The whole, I want only one butt thing, I mean.

Am I being corrupted by Jupiter? Did the whole pinching Blue Eyes's butt unleash something wild in me that was dormant up until now, even throughout puberty?

And you want to know to know the even weirder thing? For some strange reason I can't get that moment out of my head when I touched Blue Eyes's bum, his very nice, very firm bum.

Oh gosh! I don't have thoughts like these!

I think about eyes, about unruly hair. Not a guy's behind!

I like Arcade Dude. I shouldn't be thinking about another guy's butt! Isn't that the equivalent to cheating on him?

I just need to sleep. That's all it is. I just need to sleep, and in the morning, I'll be back to my normal, innocent self. No more gum in church, no more listening to Jupiter, and certainly no more butt pinching!

Now, I need to sleep.

Goodnight, World,

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/18/04-10:06 PMeastern

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Response: JoshIsMINE

Wow! What a weird coincidence? I wish I were you. I mean, that guy sounds totally hot! Blue Eyes, I mean. sighs I wish I had made eye contact with a guy. And what's this about him catching you when you fell? DETAILS!

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

Awe, a love triangle. How TV romantic. I say, go after Arcade Dude, but string Blue Eyes along as a back up. Now, go get 'em.

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Response: ThornINmySIDE

Maybe you won't see the waiter again. I mean, sure you thought that after you pinched his ass, but maybe this time it will stick, you know, the whole not ever seeing him again thing.

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Response: mmmmDoughnuts

Give me doughnuts!

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Response: IH8Dis

I'll tell you again. Arcade Dude sounds like a complete a-hole. So, stop chasing that ass, and go after the one you pinched.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/18/04

10:49 PM eastern

Today has been…interesting, to say the least, and it all began with yet another butt pinching. Although, I must say I didn't mind this one as much as the one yesterday, given to me by some middle-aged woman, who I imagine was also a Ryan Seacrest fan.

Anyway, today was just like any other boring day-in-the-life-of-Darien. That is, until around lunch, when church let out and the Baptist and Catholics and various other religious followers were released from today's service, all hungry and ready to get out of their dress clothes.

So, I was in the middle of bringing food to another table when Raye, the hostess for today because the boss was afraid she'd spill another drink, approached to tell me that table five was occupied.

As I approached the table, I noticed the blond and brunette. I didn't recognize the brunette, but for a moment, I almost thought that the blond was Mina. Then, I realized that Mina's hair was shorter and wavier.

They were both busy looking over their menus when I reached their table and asked, "What will you ladies be drinking this afternoon?"

The Brunette looked up, smiled almost wickedly, and ordered a tea. Next, I addressed the blond, who finally looked up from her menu.

I know this may sound…odd, but I swear when she looked into my eyes I couldn't think of anything but her. I don't know how I could have mistaken that girl for Mina. While Mina may be movie star gorgeous, this girl was just so darn pretty and cute, with her pert nose and pink lips, not to mention her petal soft skin and pink-dusted cheeks.

And her eyes…Her eyes were so large and innocent and…What word was it that the authors had always used in Mom's romance books? Deep! That's it! Deep pools of baby blue sapphire.

She was the first to look away, I'm embarrassed to admit. But I guess you could say I was never a good swimmer, and I've always heard that drowning was the most peaceful way to go. So, maybe that's why, while I was drowning in her eyes, I'd really no desire to swim for safety.

I know, I know. I sound like such a girl, and can you say cliché? But I'm going to use my guy card as my excuse for not being able to come up with anything original.

Anyway, as I left their table, the blonde's companion yelled something about my, erm, backside. I looked back to see the blond with her head buried in her hands and the brunette smiling wickedly again.

I eventually learned from my frequent visits to their table that the blonde was Serena and her chestnut-haired friend was Lita. I also learned that Serena's third grade boyfriend gave her a picture of himself for Christmas, and for some reason, this information caused an odd feeling within me, a feeling akin to the one I had when Stacey (the chick from my high school days) went to prom with some quarterback named Pete.

It was…odd, you know?

Anyway, later, when I went to pick up the bill and my tip, Lita and Serena were getting up to leave.

Then Serena did the weirdest thing. She apologized, saying, "I'm so sorry for this."

At first, I was confused. Why would she need to apologize to me? But then it quickly became apparent what "this" was when she reached around me and, well, grabbed my tushie.

She then bolted for the door, a blush very apparent on her face, and even though she just grabbed my butt cheeks, I couldn't help but think the blush on her cheeks was rather becoming.

You don't find many girls that still blush now days, certainly not the ones Andrew brings over. Not even Mina blushes in Andrew's presence.

So, after she left, I cleaned off their vacated table, glad that my shift was about over. Once in the employee room, I hung my apron (I hate calling it an apron, but that's what everyone else calls it) and headed out the back exit to my car.

Raye, who had parked beside me, was pulling out as I approached, but apparently she had something to tell me. So, she put her car back in park, and rolled the passenger side window. When I leaned down and peered over the empty passenger seat, I saw that she was smirking.

"You're two for two, Darien," she said laughingly.

I didn't even try to pretend as if I didn't understand what she was talking about. Two days, two butt pinches. Har, har. I didn't found it funny.

I still don't.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Go ahead. Laugh it up. I can't help it I'm too hot to touch."

"Now, Darien, if you were too hot to touch, they wouldn't have had a problem keeping their hands off you." She smirked again.

I grumbled, and propped my elbow on her open window. "How does Chad stand you?" I wanted to know.

Chad, the guy I crashed with two nights ago in his dorm, is Raye's long time boyfriend and a new regular at Farely's (the restaurant where we work) since Raye started working there. And for some reason, he and he alone has the power to withstand Raye's wisecracks and ego lowering jokes.

"He loves me," she shrugged.

"Anyone who loves you is crazy out of their mind, and that includes your parents."

"Ouch," she said sarcastically, "that one really stung."

I shrugged. "So I'm off my game today."

"And that wouldn't have anything to do with a certain blond now would it?"

"Um, no."

"You know what's so odd about it? I'm mean, the whole her grabbing your ass thing."

"No, what?" I wanted to know.

"Well, I didn't really see it coming from her, you know? Her friend, yeah. That lady yesterday, yeah. But not the blond."

I sighed. "You know, I thought the same thing. She even apologized before doing it. Isn't that weird?"

She shrugged, unable to think of a comment. "Oh well, I need to be going. Chad and I want to see a matinee, since, you know, the whole I-have-school-tomorrow thing."

"Hey," I said, "Speaking of school, do you know the blond? I mean, does she go to your school?"

She shook her head. "Nope, I didn't recognize her. She probably goes to the public school. You know us private Catholic school girls: we don't get out much."

She was laughing when she pulled out, and I opened my own car door.

When I arrived at my dorm, I, you know, expected to spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing or working on my paper due next week. But I had no such luck, because when I got to the dorm, there was Andrew, waiting on me so he could "ask a favor of" me.

And that favor had been for me to go with him to Mina's house for Sunday dinner.

My first thought was, Why?

It seemed like a good enough thought, so I voiced it. "Why?"

"Because I need you there, and they invited you."

"They invited me? They don't even know me. Well, Mina does, but still…" Then, cautiously I asked, "Why do you need me there?"

"I need you to distract Mina's little sister, who can be a real pain."

I, of course, envisioned some thirteen year old who liked to tag along with her sister and her sister's friends in an attempt to be "cool." This vision frightened me and also made me seriously doubt my friendship with Andrew, who I was starting to believe, was an even bigger jerk than I first thought.

But even though he is a jerk, he is still my friend, and friends do favors for friends, right?

So, I agreed to go along with him to his girlfriend's house for dinner. Besides, the idea of a home cooked meal sounded pretty good compared to the frozen pizza I had planned to eat later.

Besides, now he owes me.

Later in the evening, Andrew and I drove in his car over to Mina's house, which was one of those quaint little two story houses located in an even quainter little neighborhood with plenty of trees and shrubs in every yard. I had to admit, that, whoever the landscaper was they had hired had been good.

So, we followed the brick path through the front yard up to the porch (complete with potted flowers and a swing) that ran the length of the house's façade.

Andrew knocked on the front door, and I shoved my hands in my pockets, wondering for the tenth time that day what exactly I was doing. Oh yeah, I reminded myself, I'm here to distract the sister.

Fun, fun.

But then the major shock came. When the front door opened, there was Serena, the girl from the restaurant, the same girl who had, well, you know. She wasn't dressed in the skirt that she had worn to the restaurant, anymore, but casual jeans and a T-shirt, her hair was up in a ponytail. And she looked just as shocked to see me there on her porch as I was to see her there on the other side of the threshold.

She looked kinda cute, too, her lips parted in surprised, and if I hadn't been just as shocked as she was, I might have smiled.

Then, Mina had come over and kissed Andrew, shoving her sister aside in the process.

Not far into their PDA moment, someone from within the house called for Serena, and from behind the couple, she looked at me, part mortified, part sheepish, and said, "Sorry." But I wasn't able tell what it was she had been apologizing for.

I still have no idea what it was.

She then left me on the porch with Romeo and Juliet, in all-out make-out mode in the doorway, which made it impossible for me to go inside.

Finally, they parted ways and we entered the living room where Mina's father was watching the news. Ken (Mina's father told me to call him Ken), stood to greet us, and I was then able to determine that Andrew was pretty chummy with Mina's old man, which I found a mite peculiar, seeing how he doesn't find it all that important to get in the good graces of his other girlfriends' parents.

But that's right, those girls put out; so there's no need.

Man, I'm really starting to dislike Andrew.

Anyway, after I was introduced to Mina and Serena's father, we all sat down in the living room. Mina, bored once her father and boyfriend began talking about the pros and cons of opening a medical practice compared to working for a hospital, decided to steal the remote and change the channel to MTV.

I, however, was stuck to either find interest in the Hillary Duff music video (who was obviously lip singing) or Andrew's conversation with Mina's father (I'm not in med school, so I don't care what they're talking about unless its cancer patients and chemotherapy). So, when Serena reentered the room, heading for the staircase, I was much more interested in tracking her movements than anything else in the living room.

Of course, she didn't stop to say hi or anything, which I understood because I, too, was still slightly embarrassed about what had happened earlier in the day. She was probably afraid I'd bring it up, too, in front of her parents.

I was watching her ascent from the corner of my eye when I also noticed the large fish mounted on the wall at the bottom of the staircase, which had me raising my eyebrows. MDs don't fish. They play golf in goofy plaid pants, right? A doctor doesn't catch the large striper on the wall, does he? I wondered.

I then noticed the small gold plaque beneath the fish, and rather than interrupting the very intense (boring) conversation, I chose to go investigate whatever it was engraved on the gold strip.

Apparently, Mina's father noticed my interest in the fish and commented, "I was very proud of that one."

"Where did you catch this one?" I asked, knowing the man was eager to tell me the long-winded tale of his masterful catch.

However, I was shocked when, instead of hitching up his pants and describing the bait he used, he chuckled and said, "I didn't catch that; my daughter Serena did. It was her first fish."

OK, this new bit of information shocked me, of course. First of all, Serena didn't provoke images of fishing poles and baited worms. She was cute, and while I didn't think she was like her sister, I could sort of see her as acting somewhat, you know, girly.

The second thing that shocked me was, of course, the actual size of the fish. That was her first fish? It was, while not huge for a striper, rather large for a first fish.

When I thought back to my first fishing trip with my dad (during the time he wasn't trying to rule my life) and the small little brim hooked on the end of my fishing line no bigger than the size of my six-year-old hand, I couldn't help but be a little envious.

I don't want to sound sexist when I say this but…here I go: She's a girl!

It's rather ego lowering, really. Yeah, fishing isn't football, which is really the macho sport, but fishing is, well, kinda like comparing, um, men parts in the locker room. There's more respect the bigger the size. (cough, cough)

As I was saying…

I eventually ended up gazing at the fish in a mixture of envy and admiration, and when I realized it wouldn't do me any good to be jealous of a girl, I was able to the admire the fish in a true sportsmanship way.

Ken and Andrew went back to talking about medical things that I honestly think Andrew had no true knowledge in. I got the feeling that Andrew was pretending to be smart, reciting information he picked up from TV or one of his classmates.

I was standing there at the bottom of the stairs, giving the fish more attention than it probably truly deserved (I had no desire to return to the couch and twiddle my thumbs until dinner) when I heard Serena yell from upstairs, "Give that back before I kill you!"

Andrew and Ken looked up at the stairs, while Mina started to flip through the cable channels. Ken sighed and shook his head as the sound of a scuffle came from above, returning to his conversation with Andrew.

I was bored, however, and the racket coming from upstairs was much more entertaining than the noise coming from the television set.

"Sammy! I will hurt you so bad if you don't give that back!" Serena yelled again, her voice muffled by stomping footsteps.

"No way!" someone—obviously the person Serena wanted to kill—yelled back.

The footsteps became louder, and soon a blond-headed boy appeared at the top of the stairs, a book clutched in his hands. He cast one look over his shoulder before running full speed down the stairs.

I pressed my self against the wall as the boy flew past me and into the living room, where he flopped down on the couch and opened the book.

I blinked a couple times, confused. If this is what it's like to have siblings, I thought, then I'm lucky to be an only child.

"Sammy, get your butt back here!"

At Serena's new threat, I looked up to the second story, and there was a fuming Serena, barreling down the stairs. I was about to move out of the way for her, when she stumbled over her sock, which had stretched and become loose at the toes.

I reached out, hoping to steady her, but instead she ended up tumbling into my arms.

She immediately began to laugh, loud and strong, a very strange reaction, I thought. I was starting to wonder if she had a serious problem, so I asked, "Are you alright?"

Her laughter slowed and she looked up, her giggles ceasing immediately.

And then it happened again, we locked gazes, well sort of. This time it wasn't as though we were caught up in each other. It was more like we were sharing a secret.

She was smiling hugely, her cheeks flushed and hot, and her eyes wide. I realized she was fine, and I found myself smiling. Then, for some reason, we both busted out in laughter.

As our laughs were reduced to gasps for air, Serena's brother, with his voice pitched high like a woman's, started to read aloud from the book he had opened, "'He was only a man, a ruggedly handsome man at that, and surely the most— '"

"Sammy!" Serena screeched before he could finish the passage.

But the boy continued to read: "'The bulge of sleek muscle there looked as hard as roped steel—'"

"Dad!" Serena pleaded to her father, her face hot with the color red.

"Samuel, stop. We have company."

Sammy looked up at his dad in protest, "But, Dad, she—"

"I don't care. Right now is not the time for you two to be running through the house like loose animals. Now, give the book back."

"Yes, Dad," he grumbled, dragging his feet to where Serena and I stood.

"Here's you stupid girly book back."

He handed over the book, and I was able to read the author and title before she clutched the book to her chest and raced up the stairs to return the book to her room.

"Dinner's ready," a blond woman, who was introduced to me as Ken's wife Ilene, announced as she entered the room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Where's Serena?"

"Upstairs," Mina answered, sitting down at the table next to Andrew.

"Sammy," his mom asked, "will you go get her and tell her dinner is ready?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Oh, Darien, you may sit next to Ken," Ilene carelessly waved a hand to the chair across the table from Andrew and adjacent to Ken, who sat at the head of the table.

Two empty seats were left on the right of me for Sammy and Serena when they came down.

Sammy returned first, saying a mumbled "she's coming" and took the seat next to his mother, which left the middle seat, the one directly beside mine, for Serena. I was kinda happy when I realized this.

She walked into the room and paused when she noticed that the only chair left was between her bother and me. I assumed she was a little anxious still after what happened today at the restaurant, and I couldn't really blame her for being a little awkward. I still couldn't help myself from taking it a little personally, though.

Was she afraid that would be mean to her or something? I had wondered. Did she think I would bring it up in a conversation at the dinner table?

When she sat down next to me, I opened my mouth to say something that would put her at ease, but instead I said, "Julie Garwood's _The Secret_? Interesting choice of reading."

I could have slapped myself then and there, but, I don't know, it was kind of nice to see her blush all cute looking again.

We all bowed our heads then to say the blessing, and I started to feel uncomfortable. My parents had never said the blessing before dinner when I was growing up, so I had never really made a habit of it. My dad had come from a family that hadn't attended church regularly even though they were religious people, and my mom, whose parent's were devout Catholics, had been quite rebellious, or so she had led me to believe, and had slowly started to get out of the habit of attending mass on Sundays.

I was almost afraid that I would be asked to say the blessing, as guests are sometimes asked to do, but, thankfully, Andrew volunteered.

I almost snorted during the prayer when Andrew thanked God for blessing him with such a wonderful girlfriend and her family.

Dinner was what you might expect: polite conversation, random complements to Ilene for her food, and the occasional whispered flirtations between Andrew and Mina.

Then, of course, there was the interrogation I was given by Ken.

"So, Andrew tells us you are studying to be an architect."

"Thanks right," I answered dutifully, but not with an ounce of pride.

Ken nodded in approval, and for some reason I was reminded of my father, which triggered what I said next:

"Actually, I've been thinking of changing my major to landscape design and maybe choosing a minor in business."

Ken, surprisingly enough, seemed interested and I continued, "I've always had a fascination with plants. I thought it might be nice to one day open my own plant store that also loans its services for landscaping projects."

"I didn't know you had a green thumb, Darien," Andrew had joked, bringing a smile to Mina's slips.

I looked Andrew in the eyes and shrugged. "I inherited it from my mother."

"Why didn't you choose landscaping as you initial major?" Ken asked.

"Well, I wanted to have chosen a major by the time I entered the university, but I wasn't entirely sure what to choose at the time. My dad has always hinted that I would be good as an architect, and at the time I thought it was what I should be."

"Well, it's nice that you have found something you enjoy. I've always told my kids that they can be what ever they want to be, even if it is a ditch digger, so long as they enjoy it. Isn't that right, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dad, and when I'm a NASCAR driver I'll buy you a nice boat, like the one Jeff Gordon has."

Ken chuckled. "All my children have high hopes it seems. Mina wants to be an actress, and Serena…what is it that you want to be now, honey?"

"A writer," she blushed and turned her head slightly to look at Andrew.

It was then that I realized that the girl I was slowly developing a crush on had feelings for someone else. And that someone was my pig of a roommate, Andrew.

After that it became unbearably obvious that Serena, the girl who still blushes and laughs with her whole soul, had a crush on Andrew, the boy who goes all the way with girls other than his girlfriend.

After dinner, we had to leave, and I was slightly glad. The love triangle between Mina, Andrew, and Serena was slowly starting to suffocate me.

Andrew and I said our goodbyes and walked out onto the front porch with Mina, who started to give Andrew a very long goodbye kiss. Since Andrew had the keys to his car, I leaned against the porch railing and stared at the sky, until the front door opened and my attention was diverted.

Out stepped Serena, who cast a quick, sad glance at the couple making out before she came over to me.

"Uh, hey," she said, nervously. "I want to, um, apologize for today. My friend, she, uh, dared me to, um, you know at the restaurant. You see," she said, "I'm normally not like that, and she, well, thought I needed to be a little more daring or something."

"It's OK," I said, "I'm just glad you're not like some girls who go around thinking that guys like that sort of thing and find it a turn on."

"Far from it actually. Your butt was the first I, uh…" she blushed, looking away at a potted plant sitting on the railing.

I laughed. "I'm fine with it, really. The same thing happened to me yesterday."

"Really?" she asked, scandalous.

"Yeah, of course, yesterday it was a forty-something woman. So, what you did today kind of took away some of the trauma of yesterday."

"Really, how's that?"

Any other girl and I might have thought she was flirting with me but not this one. She really had no idea.

"Well, you're much cuter," I said, rather bravely.

"Hey, Darien. Let's go." Andrew, having had enough tongue for the night, was ready to go.

Disappointment, settled in.

"Bye, Serena. Nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too, Darien," she said as I followed the cement path to Andrew's car.

So here I am, in my dorm, writing on my computer while Andrew works diligently on an essay due tomorrow.

I didn't like Andrew before this evening, but my aversion towards him has grown since dinner, and I am now determined to bring to light Andrew's philandering ways. I don't know how exactly I'm going to get Mina—and Serena—to realize Andrew is a grade-A jerk, but somehow I will do it.

Tonight, I saw the act that Andrew puts on whenever he is around Mina, and it sickens me. If Mina is half the actor Andrew is, it won't be long before she's winning an Oscar.

I need some sleep.

'Nite,

Darien.

Today's Useless Information: It takes an average of 548 peanuts to make a 12-ounce jar of peanut butter.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenTumbs-4/18/04-10:49 PMeastern

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Response: KISSmeTenderly

My name is Tiffany. My sign is Capricorn, and I think you are the cutest. I think we should meet sometime. How bout it? I blush, too.

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Response: HomeworkBound

Sha la la la la la, don't be shy! Kiss de girl! Sorry, _Little Mermaid_ moment.

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Response: NYsubwayMan

Wow. What a day. Wish I had your luck. Serena seems really cool. Are you going to try and win her over after you expose Andrew's dirty side?

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Response: xtreamSK8ERdude

Dude, you have to impress the girl. Find out what she likes and impress the hell out of her. For example, when I'm at the skate park and I see a fine girl, I grind a rail. They usually like that, but you gotta make sure you don't smash your nuts. It hurts like hell.

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Response: KissYourCousin

Just how big was the fish?

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Response: IH8Dis

Well, I'll be damned.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Random Acts of Violence

**User:** IH8Dis

4/18/04

10:58 PM eastern

Well, shit. I just realized the funniest damn thing. There are two people on this website writing journals about each other. One's this weird girl who has a crush on her sister's boyfriend, and the other is some guy, who also happens to be the roommate of the sister's boyfriend.

God, it's funny.

Especially, since the guy has a crush on the girl.

Woo wee! This website just may provide me with some entertainment after all.

Retrieves pop corn from microwave and sits down in front of computer.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: IH8Dis-4/18/04-10:58 PMeastern

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All responses to IH8Dis's diary have been screened, and will not be viewable to the public unless IH8Dis wishes to unscreen all comments to diary Random Acts of Violence.

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TO BE CONTINUED…

A.N.: So how'd you like it? The hardest thing about this story, I've found, is trying to write both journals from different POVs discussing the same event without boring the readers. I've read fanfics where the authors switch POV and end up repeating the same thing in a unnecessary way that ending up boring me to death. Hopfully, I avoided this. Please tell me how I'm doing with it so far.

SHOUT OUTS!

**way2beme: **You crack me up. I enjoy reading your reviews. Thanks. Oh, and when I said you helped with the plot, you'll find out next chapter what I meant.

**Nunnya Buiznes:** I'm sorry if the plot was too slow for you at first, but now is where it starts to pick up! Woot! The first two chapters were really there to establish the characters. Since I did this in a diary format, I didn't want to expose to much because it wouldn't seem real for the whole plot to be exposed in the first chapter. Thank you for giving the story a chance.

**DarkAngleB:** Look! IH8Dis has a diary now! As for IH8Dis's gender, well, I had a pictured a cynical female, to be honest. I think this character is loosely based on one of my friends in a class of mine two years ago. However, if you like the idea of IH8Dis as being a male, go ahead. I've been toying with the idea of not really acknowledging IH8Dis's gender in the story.

**kelyumemiru67: **Thank you! I'm so glad I didn't bore you. lol

**Coneko:** It's nice to be back, and thank you.

Thanks to all my reviewers. You're great!


	4. Chapter Four

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Sailor Moon. I own absolutely nothing because, as my dad likes to remind me, everything in my room is in HIS house. pouts Maybe I should go bury some stuff in the back yard so I can lay claim to it, but that seems a little extreme.

A.N.: Another chapter! I was determined, however, to get at least one more chapter out before I start school again next week. Stupid government making me learn. Chapter four probably would have been out earlier if I hadn't decided it rushed the story a bit and then COMPLETELY rewrote it. So, this is the second chapter four I wrote, and although I hated to get rid of the original one, I must say I do like this version better. Besides, anything I included in the "orginal" chapter four can be worked into a later chapter.

This chapter is dedicated to Nimbirosa, who not only reviewed my story but also restored my faith in Sailor Moon/Harry Potter crossovers.

Now, Chapter Four…

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/19/04

6:35 PM eastern

After yesterday's unusual events, I was almost glad that today was Monday because Mondays mean routines, and routines mean fewer unexpected surprises. I was so determined to have a normal day today that I only pressed the snooze button on my alarm clock twice.

I will go ahead and admit that I probably would have slept later if Venus had not turned on the hairdryer in the bathroom.

So, I crawled out of bed, rubbing the crust from the corners of my eyes, and went downstairs to eat some of my smores Pop-Tarts in front of the TV while watching Captain Planet on Cartoon Network. Then I went upstairs to see if Venus was out of the bathroom. Luckily, she was taking her turn at the vanity, and the bathroom was free for me to take my shower and dry my hair.

Venus was applying her second—third?—coat of makeup when I finished in the bathroom, my hair dried and pulled back away from my face. I then proceeded to get dressed.

OK, maybe I am exaggerating about the tree layers of makeup. I mean, Venus isn't a complete snob, and she wasn't always as self-centered as she is now. I don't know what spawned the change in her personality. Normally, I'd guess it was puberty, but that happened before she became a cheerleader. And it was sometime around the time she decided that she wanted to trade her volley ball in for pom poms that she became less of a big sister and more of an annoying walking, talking living-in-my-room Teen Vogue magazine.

She's always been really popular. Even as a freshman, when she was playing volley ball for the high school varsity team, she was hanging out with older, athletic boys. She also got to flirt with the boy's volley ball team on the bus to and from away games.

I know all this because Mom, Dad, Brat, and I went to as many of her games as we could, and we always stayed after the girls' games to watch the boys play. Venus and I would sit together in the bleachers and she would point out the different boys to me, the ones she thought were cute, the ones that were sweet, and the ones she'd thought I would like.

Venus suddenly quit volley ball after her freshman year and became a cheerleader. I asked her several times why she quit, but she'd never tell me anything. She'd always say, "I just don't want to play anymore," and then leave the room or switch the subject.

We don't discuss boys together anymore, and I miss that. Sure, I have friends like Jupiter to discuss guys with, but Venus knew me back then better than anyone. She knew what I looked for in a guy, and she knew when I was lying about liking one.

Sometimes, during the summer we'd stay up late talking nostalgically about the crushes we'd had the previous school year until one of us fell asleep.

Now, we just say a polite goodnight to each other before turning out the lights.

Anyway, after I dressed for school, I said bye to Mom and Dad and hurried out to Venus's car before she left me.

In first period, English, I took notes on Existentialism and the Absurdist Theory, which the majority of the class found to be completely absurd. (Sorry, I couldn't resist the pun.)

"It makes no sense! It's completely gay," one guy said.

I had to refrain from telling him that, unless he had had a homosexual experience, he had no basis for his comparison. He must know what exactly _is_ gay before he can claim something else to be such. Unless of course, he was referring to the other meaning of the word gay, but existentialism doesn't really provoke happiness.

Also, using the word gay in such a way can be offensive to homosexuals. My friend Uranus, who I know through work, told me so. I said something similar as the guy in my class around Uranus, and she promptly told me that using gay to describe something you don't like or think of as stupid has a negative connotation to homosexuals.

I had been quick to apologize, and she had told me that it was all right. "You're an innocent anyway," she had said. "I know you meant nothing by it, but others might not."

I've never met Uranus's girlfriend, but I do know that the two of them have been together for several years, ever since they were freshmen.

In second period, after I took notes and did the chapter's vocabulary, I told Jupiter about what happened last night. We had to whisper, of course, because our teacher, a young guy with glasses and short hair, loves gossip and loves trying to remind his students that he is still young by talking about things they like to talk about.

Personally, I think it's a little weird for your economics teacher to try to stay "hip" while teaching one of the most boring subjects known to mankind.

Jupiter, of course, found last night very humorous and had to muffle her laughter in her faded Greenbay Packers sweatshirt. She got especially choked up when I told her about Brat's little story-time episode before dinner.

"Shut up. It's not funny," I pouted, fingering the corner of my textbook.

"Yeah," she snorted in laughter, "it is. I mean, the irony of it is so great! You violate this guy—"

"Only because you made me—"

"And he shows up on your doorstep a few hours later. No one forced you to touch his ass. I just suggested it, and the idea was too tempting for you to pass up."

I paused before saying anything because the teacher walked between our desks, stepping over our book bags and Jupiter's enormous gym bag with all her soccer gear.

When he was out of earshot, I leaned closer to Jupiter. "So, now what do I do?" I whispered. "What do I say the next time I see him?"

"Don't worry about it. From what you said, he seemed pretty cool about it all. _If_—and I repeat _if_—you ever see him again, just follow his lead. He probably won't even bring it up."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, not completely convinced.

"You know, this would be perfect for one of your stories."

"Excuse me?" I blinked.

"Those stories you're always writing but never finish. You know, boy meets girl, boy and girl eventually fall in love, blah blah. You should write a new story where shy girl pinches hot boy on the butt, which, in turn, leads to them falling in love." Jupiter sighed dramatically and clasped her hands.

She's always teasing me about my stories, but that never stops her from bouncing ideas off me. Usually, those ideas end up bouncing right into the trash can.

"Jupiter, you're crazy. Besides, you know my characters never fall in love."

"Oh that's right. You're characters fall into like."

I like the idea of love. I like the idea of falling in love. I just don't think it's possible for teenagers to fall in love. I take that back; I guess it could happen to a rare few. However, I like my stories to be believable, and the majority of teenagers don't fall in love.

I once told Jupiter that teenagers fall only into two things: like and lust, both of which don't sound as good as love when trying to endear a boy or girl to you.

It just wouldn't be as romantic for boys to go around declaring how they truly feel, writing "I lust you!" on the Valentine cards they send to their girlfriends.

Girl: I lust you!

Boy: I lust you, too!

Girl: (sighs)

See, not nearly as romantic.

I hope I'm not sounding hypocritical, dreaming about love but not actually expecting to find it anytime soon. I just feel so young, too young to fall head over heals for a guy. Love, to me, seems like an adult emotion, and I mostly write about teenagers.

After economics, Jupiter and I had our usual slice of Monday pizza at our usual table in the cafeteria during lunch. Our friend Mercury joined us, but instead of pizza, she ate a sub she bought that morning at Subway because she refuses to eat school food.

Jupiter and I have known Mercury (yes, another nickname) since elementary school, but we rarely get to see her during school anymore because she is in all AP classes. Jupiter and I aren't. Luckily, we did get the same lunch as her.

During mouthfuls of pepperoni and cheese, Jupiter decided to let Mercury in on my little act of daringness from Sunday. To Jupiter, however, what I did Sunday was anything but "little," and it seemed like she was destined to remind me all day. The very first sentence out of her mouth after Mercury sat down at our table was an over dramatized exclamation of, "Oh my God. You won't BELIEVE what Bunny did!"

Mercury decided to take on the role of scandalized-but-thoroughly-interested-friend.

"I can't believe you did that!" she said, giving truth to Jupiter's first sentence.

"Neither can I," I grumbled, picking off a pepperoni and popping it into my mouth.

"You shouldn't have done that," Mercury scolded.

Like I didn't already know that.

"I know, I know. Pinching a guy's ass—sorry, Mercury—butt goes against the rules of dating, blah blah. At least I apologized to him before doing it." I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

"Personally," Jupiter said, "I think it's funny."

"Yeah, I got that feeling already," I mumbled.

"The idea that he's Arcade Dude's roommate is quite astonishing, though, isn't it?"

Mercury's rhetorical question received a cheeky nod from Jupiter and a groan for me.

Then Jupiter turned her eyes on Mercury. "Now that Bunny's done something bold, it's your turn."

Mercury's look was almost comical, as in it looked straight from the comic books. Her eyes grew huge, and her mouth hung open almost to the table, horrified. The look was gone in a second, however, and she attempted to look haughty.

"I will not play a part in your game of 'converting the innocents to The Dark Side.'"

The rather bad reference to Star Wars almost had Pepsi burning up my nose as I choked on my drink. Mercury isn't into science fiction in any way or form. Jupiter and I almost had to tie her down a couple of years ago just so we could get her to watch the original Star Wars Trilogy. Making a reference to the movies seemed like something that she would consider beneath her.

Then again, maybe she was trying to speak Jupiter's language so she could get her point across.

"Just you wait, Mercury," Jupiter threatened with a smirk, "I shall find you some dashing computer nerd, with glasses that he will let only you remove so you can see his compelling blue eyes."

Mercury turned to me. "Have you been letting her read your books again."

"No," I answered slowly. I was being honest. I just happened to avoid mentioning Jupiter's frequent purchases at the book store where I work, purchases that I suggested she buy.

Lunch ended, but not before Mercury and I decided to meet after school to go for an ice cream. Jupiter, unfortunately, had soccer practice after school until six o'clock.

In pre-calculus we did problems from the book while the substitute, a bald man whose monotone voice reminiscent to Ben Stein earned him the nickname Clear Eyes by the majority of the school population, walked around the room, trying to help students who did not understand the material.

In fourth period, I had a rather wonderful daydream about Arcade Dude while trying to make a cat out of clay. I thought at the time I could multi-task, but apparently, from the look on my art teacher's face, my thoughts were distracting me from my work. By the end of class, I had a sphere of clay, with two triangles for ears, two thumb holes for eyes, and crooked lines drawn with my finger nail as whiskers. In other words, I had the skull of the skull and cross bones for a little cat pirate ship.

After school, I waited for Mercury by her car, a small Pontiac that she affectionately calls Kelvin after the SI Unit of temperature, or at least that's what she told me when I asked the origin of its name.

We went to the Baskin Robbins, where Mercury ordered a vanilla ice cream with M&Ms and sprinkles, and I ordered a Mocha Blast.

I'm not usually a coffee drinker, but there's nothing wrong with a Mocha Blast, which I slurped down with great joy as Mercury and I walked to the nearby college campus to finish our treats. We found a spot under a pecan tree that was a good enough distance from the actual buildings to avoid the college traffic. I think Mercury and I are both a little intimidated by the college students.

Although, I admit, there was a small part of me kind of wanting to sit on one of the benches closer to the goings on, hoping to catch a glimpse of Arcade Dude. Then again, there was also a chance I could run into his roommate, a thought that had the Mocha Blast churning in my stomach, like a bad case of gas.

"Just think," Mercury sighed, "two more years and we'll be in college."

I hate the idea of going off to college. Not because the courses will be harder or because I hate school. I'm just slightly intimidated by the whole I'm-going-to-be-on-my-own thing.

"I don't want to grow up," I mumbled around the straw, chewing on it slightly between slurps.

"It's inevitable, like sunsets and death."

How…depressing.

She could have at least said sunrises and birth to sound more cheerful.

Don't let the depressing analogy fool you, though. Mercury's actually excited to be going to college. She likes school. If it wasn't for school, she'd be at home doing…well, nothing. She's a bit of a recluse and during the summer when we're on vacation, if I ever want to see her, I have to call her up and invite her out somewhere. It's like she could live contently in her own little academic bubble without ever making human contact.

OK. I admit, I can't exactly say she has no life without being a tiny bit hypocritical. I mean, I don't get out much either. I don't like to "par-tay" like a large number of the students at my school, and Battle of the Bands rock concerts just don't appeal to me. I think it's all the people.

My taste in music is rather eclectic, ranging from Bowling for Soup to the stringed quartet Bond. I enjoy head banging and dancing as much as the next person; I just enjoy it in the privacy of my own bedroom—when Venus isn't around, that is.

Anyway, Mercury and I were chowing down our ice cream as fast as we could before it melted when this guy approached us.

"Hi!" he said in this really friendly manner like we'd met before somewhere, which we hadn't, or at least I hadn't.

But I glanced at Mercury, straw still in my mouth, and saw that she had the same confused look I expected I was wearing.

"Um, hi?" I said—or questioned—politely, taking the straw from my mouth to swirl it around in my dessert.

"You don't go here, do you." When he said it, it sounded like he was saying something he already knew, which had me wondering why he had said it in the first place if he already knew the truth. I guessed it was just one of those things people say when there is nothing else to say, and if that was so, I couldn't help but wonder why the guy came over to say "hi" if he had nothing else to say.

"No. No, we don't," Mercury answered graciously.

He smiled, and as he leaned forward to shake our hands the sun reflected off his glasses. "My name's Geek."

OK, his name wasn't Geek; it was something else. I'm using a codename here again. Of course, the word could have been branded across this guy's forehead it was so obvious he was one. A geek, I mean.

His mousy brown hair was shaggy and uneven, and I wondered if he cut it himself. He wasn't wearing anything as cliché as flood pants and a pocket protector, but he did have on naturally faded jeans that hugged his ankles, scruffy tennis shoes, and a T-shirt that declared: NO I WILL NOT FIX YOUR COMPUTER.

Mercury and I both introduced ourselves, slightly weary even though the guy was obviously harmless. He was just annoyingly friendly, and maybe a tiny bit desperate.

"So, which high school do you go to?"

We told him where we went to school, and he nodded and rubbed his peach fuzz covered chin as though he were thinking.

"Yeah, I've heard of it. I'm not a local myself."

"Oh, where're you from," Mercury questioned, playing along, knowing he was hoping she'd ask.

"Mississippi. How about either of you? Live anywhere else besides around here?"

"Nope," I shook my head.

"What about you?" Geek turned eager eyes onto Mercury.

Obviously, he was more smitten with her, which had me wondering what was just so damn wrong with me. I'll be the first to admit I'm not beautiful, but I have my moments where I can look at myself in the mirror and think "My eyes are pretty" or "I have nice shaped lips." Still, why is it that when I go out with friends guys always ask me about my friends rather than asking my friends about me?

I sighed and slurped my ice cream again as I realized the guy was bound to be drawn to her. One academic can probably sniff out another. Besides, I should have been sorry for Mercury. The guy seemed kind of clingy, which I knew would scare her off and make her uncomfortable.

Then the guy asked for her phone number.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I usually don't give out my number to people I've just met."

The guy was persistent. "You're e-mail, then?"

"I, well, I don't have internet access."

Lie! Mercury' a liar! Of course she has the internet! She's probably as big a computer geek as Mr. No-I-will-not-fix-your-computer.

I was so stunned at the lie coming from her lips that I could have swallowed my own tongue. She said it so casually, though, like it was the truth, like she told the same lie to ten guys every day to ward them off.

Geek seemed upset, but I don't know if it was because he didn't get Mercury's contact information or because he thought she wasn't as into computers as he was.

"Well, I have one more class left today. Got to go. Bye." he said after looking at his watch.

I turned my head to make sure he left and then turned to Mercury. "You broke his heart!"

"I did not." She scooped up some of her melting ice cream and stuck it into her mouth.

When it looked like she wasn't going to say anything more on the subject, I snorted. "No internet access, my ass."

She blushed, then admonished, "Bunny, don't cuss."

"Sorry, I've been hanging out with Jupiter too much lately." I paused as a thought struck me. "Wait 'til I tell Jupiter about this! She's gonna to flip!"

And maybe, I thought secretly, she'll forget about the butt-pinching thing.

Of course, when Jupiter called me from her cell phone on the way home from soccer practice and I told her about the geek and Mercury's little lie, she'd acted shocked for a moment before laughing.

"You might not have as hard a time as you thought bringing her to 'The Dark Side,'" I guffawed, quoting Mercury from earlier on in the day.

"Maybe, Maybe," she trailed off. Then she hmmmed into her cell phone. "Speaking of The Dark Side. Feel like going to Farley's for dinner?"

I told her Mom was fixing lasagna and hung up on her and her loud laughs.

Speaking of lasagna, I can smell it in my room. Dinner's about ready, I guess, so I'm going to finish this.

Goodnight, World.

Bunny.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/19/04-6:35 PMeastern

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

Man, your normal days are pretty boring. I was kind of hoping you'd see Blue Eyes again, or at least Arcade Dude.

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Response: ViolinsAndBows

I think you're wrong about teenage love. I'm a teenager, and I'm in love. It has to be love. He's so sweet and kind and romantic. He gave me a promise ring last year when we graduated from high school, and sometime after we graduate from college, we're going to get married. So don't knock teen love because just because you haven't experienced it.

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Response: boxersORbriefs

All right! Another BFS fan. What's your favorite song by them? Mine's _Ohio (Come Back to Texas)_.

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Response: BoiWidallDFun

What the hell is existentialism? And what does it have to do with English?

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Response: IH8Dis

Luke, I lust you.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/19/04

8:53 PM eastern

I didn't have any classes today. I thought about going to the library and working on the paper I have due next week, but I got to thinking about last night and what I had told Mina and Serena's dad about changing my major. And I couldn't stop thinking about it.

So, I grabbed my keys, got in my truck, and followed my firmly attached roots back home. I didn't call first, and I should have because the trip turned out to be a complete waste of gas. The garage was completely empty when I pressed the button of the garage door opener that I still keep in my glove compartment.

I took the keys out of the ignition and fiddled with them a bit. He wasn't home, but I still had the key to go inside. I mulled it over, decided I might as well get a bite to eat before leaving a note somewhere saying I stopped by.

The house looked exactly the same as it did before Mom died, but it didn't smell like she lived there anymore. I opened the door, subconsciously expecting to smell the mixture of Windex, Roses, and the scent of her burning candles she had throughout the house.

I doubted the windows were cleaned regularly anymore, and Dad wasn't the type to go through his house keeping candles lit, even if he was sentimental enough to keep every nick-nack and every romance book of Mom's exactly where it had been before she went to the hospital that last time.

The rose smell was there, but that was another sign of Dad's sentimentality. Mom loved roses and would keep them in vase, a family heirloom, sitting on top of the mantle in the living room. Dad, it seemed, still continued to put new roses in the vase regularly.

Dad designed and had the house built after he and Mom were married and it was completed before I was born. After Mom died, I expected we would move out, get away from the memories like every other grieving character in a book or movie. Instead, Dad turned the house into a walk-in painting where the lighting never changed and all the inanimate objects stayed in their places.

I took my shoes off at the door so I wouldn't track anything across the living room's beige carpet. In the kitchen, I found what I needed to make a sandwich and ate standing up by the island countertop in the center of the room.

I glanced around the kitchen. Nothing had changed, not even the phrase HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS that someone had stitched on a piece of white cloth and framed for my mother.

I finished my sandwich, rinsed off my plate, and put it in the dish washer. It was like I'd never been there. I thought about going up to my old room, but decided I might as well leave. I left a note on the counter for Dad using a piece of paper from the notepad that hung magnetized to the refrigerator door.

As I left, I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that I didn't get to confront my Dad with my decision to change my major. When I first saw that the garage was empty, the evil bubbly feeling in my stomach (the same one I get anytime I have to speak in front of a crowd) stopped churning.

Then again, I was also agitated. I had finally gotten the courage (Yeah, I'm a wuss) to face my dad and tell him I won't be following in his footsteps, and he's not home. As I drove back to the university, I couldn't help but to blame Dad, as if his absence had been on purpose because he knew what I was going to tell him.

Sounds stupid, right?

The rational side of me said that I was crazy. My Dad is not avoiding me. He has no clue that I don't want to be an architect because all I've ever shown him was a fake eagerness that he was either completely oblivious to or eager to ignore.

I hope he's completely oblivious because the thought of him pushing me into doing something he knows without a doubt I have no interest in is almost sickening.

And I don't know who's worse. Him, for pushing me into it; or, me, for letting him do it.

When I got back to the school, I decided the best way to forget about everything was to work on my paper. So after retrieving my lap top and a few other materials I wandered across campus to the main building where the library's located.

However, as I approached the building, I noticed something more interesting than the Gothic novel I was planning on analyzing. Three figures were beneath a pecan tree in discussion. It was the figure standing up that drew my attention to the group.

Melvin Smith is most definitely NOT the campus Casanova. He's what many would call a geek, or nerd, or dork. I've never quite figured out the differences between a geek, a nerd, and a dork, but I'm sure Melvin is a little of every one. Even the guy's name screams computers and pocket protectors.

The thing is, Melvin doesn't seem to let his nerdiness affect him. He has no problem approaching women, even after countless rejections. We have one class together, and I've watched him sit down between two girls, get snubbed by one girl, and then promptly turn to the other to try to make conversation.

I can't help but admire the guy, though. He's got more balls than I do if he can still look a girl in the eye after being rejected as many times as he's been.

So, after recognizing his messy crop of brown hair and realizing that the two seated figures in front of him were female, I decided to stop and silently root for him.

I'm a sucker for an underdog story, like the movies _Water Boy_ and _Happy Gilmore._ OK, maybe Adam Sandler movies aren't the best examples, but how about _Miracle_? It's even based on a true story.

Then, as I'm watching Melvin try to score a date, or at least a phone number, I recognize one of the figures as Serena, Mina's sister. She had a straw in her mouth and the drink it led to in her left hand. Her face only showed a slight interest in whatever it was Melvin was telling her friend.

For some reason, I was happy she looked bored.

He left a few minutes later, and I called out his name. When his glass-covered eyes found mine, I waved him over. I read his shirt as he came closer and cracked a smile. NO I WILL NOT FIX YOUR COMPUTER it stated. I wondered what online store he had bought it from.

"Get her number?" I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the girls.

"Nah, they weren't my type."

I didn't know Melvin had a type. He never put me in the frame of mind of someone who discriminates. I thought all girls were open game for him.

"Really? You seemed to be getting along with the short haired one."

"Well," he shrugged, "I don't think we share the same interests."

"What about the blonde?"

I'll admit I was more curious than I was letting on. I couldn't help it that there might have been a tiny part of me wondering if what wasn't Melvin's type was really mine.

"She seemed kinda shy. Besides, I think she was more interested in her ice cream than me."

Shy. Well, I already knew that, but I also knew that shyness hadn't kept her from pinching my butt.

I found more humor, however, in the fact that shy girls weren't Melvin's type. I figured someone like him would prefer a girl who was sweet and innocent. Course, the image of Melvin with a slightly demanding and assertive woman wasn't all that hard to imagine either. Maybe he did need to find a woman who would allow him to be the meeker one in the relationship. Maybe he needed a Betty to his Barney, a Lara to his Steve Urkel.

I worked on my paper in the library for a couple of hours and then returned to the dorm room. Andrew wasn't there, and since he didn't have to work today, I wondered which of his girlfriends he was with.

I want to tell Mina and Serena about Andrew's wandering dick, but I doubt they would believe me. One or both of them would probably just accuse me of lying because I'm jealous of Andrew, and I'm absolutely not jealous. Not in the slightest. No, they need to discover on their own just how callous he is.

But it wouldn't hurt to point them in the right path to discovery, would it?

I need to think more about this.

Well, bye.

Today's Useless Information: 250 people have fallen off the leaning tower of Pisa.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenTumbs-4/19/04-8:53 PMeastern

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Response: IMdaManHo

You've got some serious family issues. Sorry about that man. Hey, uh, you never gave me Barbara's number, by the way.

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Response: SpeaksMyMind

Have you and your dad ever tried counseling? A friend of mine lost her dad a few years ago, and she and her mom went to a physiologist. She's doing really well. You might want to think about it, even if your dad doesn't agree.

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Response: CheeriosSAVEhearts

Geek: Someone who's really obsessive about something and knows every little factoid about the subject. (Ex.: Comic Book Guy from_ The Simpsons_)

Nerd: Someone who does extremely well in school and has a high IQ. (Ex.: Professor Frink from _The Simpsons_)

Dork: 1) Someone who is occasionally clumsy, usually of average intelligence, and slightly amusing and funny (Ex.: Milhouse from _The Simpsons_). 2) A whale penis.

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Response: IH8Dis

God, just take a picture of Andrew bare-assed in bed with some other chick, mail it anonymously, and get the whole fuckin' thing over with. And while you're at it, send a letter to Daddy telling him how big a wuss you are.

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A.N.: Okay, shorter than chapter three, but a lot of familiar faces were introduced from the SM world. Also, IH8Dis's diary did not appear in this chapter because, while I love this character, I don't want it to steal Serena and Darien's thunder. After all, it is THEIR story. IH8Dis's diary will appear again, but just not in every chapter. I am very glad that everyone's liking the dairy format and the blogs, both of which were influenced by Meg Cabot's adult contemporary romances, which I highly recommend along with her teen novels. Oh, I'm also extremely happy that no one seems bored with the switching of POV, but if it ever does become a problem, please tell me. Reviews are VERY welcome, as well as any constructive criticism or suggestions.

Shout Outs:

I decided to shout outs on my bio page to avoid having a huge list at the bottom of my story because many of my replies were rather lengthy. So, if you reviewed chapter three, you might want to check it out.


	5. Chapter Five

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMER: Me Poor. Enough said.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the wait, but here is chapter five. Special thanks goes out to Nibirosa, my beta reader for keeping me motivated. I hope everyone had happy holidays. I know I did, when the power was working, that is. Dern ice storms. I'm still waiting for real snow. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE…

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ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/20/04

8:43 PM eastern

I arrived at work at the usual time, but instead of finding Ms. Tight-Ass behind the counter of the small new and used bookstore, I found Uranus, who usually works in the storage room sorting the books and repairing the damaged used books that might be brought in for store credit. Uranus is anti-social and doesn't try to hide it, which is why Ms. Tight-Ass or I usually work up front. Ms. Tight-Ass says it's because "we have a much friendlier demeanor," which I know is a lie since she included herself with the usage of the word "we."

Admittedly, I can be pretty friendly with the customers, so long as TA (Tight-Ass) isn't breathing over my shoulder to make sure I ring up purchases right and shelve the books in the order. I know my alphabet for Pete's sake. I don't know why she must check to make sure I don't put Ron Rash before William Faulkner.

Anyway, when I come in, Uranus was ringing up a customer, a five-year-old boy whose mother was patiently—and slowly—helping the child to count out the money for a picture book.

Uranus looked like she wanted to beat herself over and over with the picture book until she became unconscious.

I smiled in sympathy as I went to the back storage room to exchange the T-shirt I was wearing for the one with the book store's logo on the front and READING OPENS WORLDS written on the back. The employee bathroom was occupied, so I went ahead and changed behind a shelf of books waiting for me to shelve out front.

When I finished changing, I loaded a cart with some of the books and pushed it into the front room. The kid and his mother were gone when I returned pushing the cart.

"Having fun?" I asked jokingly.

"Hell no." Uranus slumped on the counter. "If you want to teach a kid how to count money, buy him the game Monopoly."

"I think that's a little above a five-year-old's head. I've never even played the game all the way through. Hey, where's TA?"

Uranus and I really do call Ms. Tight Ass Ms. Tight Ass, or TA for short. We both share a mutual dislike for the woman.

A funny grin spread across Uranus's face when I asked where TA was. The grin turned wicked. "I think TA is having some stomach problems. Diarrhea probably. When I came in, she told me to take over the cash register and then bolted for the bathroom. She's exited the restroom once since then, and I saw her slip out a bottle of Pepto before returning to the restroom."

"Ew, gross. I did not need to know that. But thanks for the warning, anyway. I won't be answering nature's call unless it rings while I'm at home. Ick, it's still gross."

She laughed. "Sure the hell is, but it's also hilarious."

And it was. Hilarious and gross.

It was about an hour from closing time when my day turned interesting. I was standing on a small step-ladder, at TA's request, trying to put up a new poster advertising the latest sci-fi thriller to come out.

TA has this obsession about advertising the new releases in the form of giant posters that she likes (me) to tack onto the back wall above the book shelves.

As I was putting up the poster, I was mumbling the words to diarrhea song. You know the song I'm talking about, the one you learn in elementary school that has endless verses, one of which goes: If you're on a ladder and you feel something splatter, diarrhea, diarrhea.

Uranus and I had started to sing it while TA was in the bathroom, mumbling it to each other every time she rushed from the room. The dern thing ended up stuck in my head.

So I was putting up the poster, and I had just finished saying, "If you step on a bug and you feel something tug," when someone behind me went, "diarrhea, diarrhea."

This surprised me, of course, since the voice is deep and masculine. Definitely NOT Uranus. So, because I am surprised, I gasp and sort of loose my balance. I would have toppled three feet to the floor, but suddenly there was a hand on my arm. Then there was a chuckle; a deep and masculine chuckle.

Once I'd steadied myself, I turned around. And you know who was standing there? Well, of course you don't because I haven't told you yet, but you can scroll down.

Blue Eyes! That's right, the waiter with the nice butt (that I pinched) who also called me cute the other night (which is very sweet even though he is not Arcade Dude) saved me from a three-foot fall off a step-ladder.

I seem to be running into him a lot lately. That's also the second time he's saved me from falling flat on my tush. Is he stalking me? Is he lying about not being pissed that I violated him?

What if he liked it?

Instead of asking him if I could help him with anything like any good sales girl, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, it seems." He smiled, and although it was a charming smile, I forced myself to glare. His smile just got bigger, though. "You could have broken your neck if I had let you fall."

I think I pouted as I turned back around to finish hanging up the poster. I'm not much of a pouter, but it's possible that I did it anyway.

With my back turned towards him, I said, "I wouldn't have broken my neck. It's just a three foot drop. Besides, I always manage to fall on my butt anyway."

He laughed, and I stabbed the last tack through the poster, wishing it was a voodoo doll of Blue Eyes. When I was finished, I climbed down and faced him.

"So what do you really want? I can point you to where the Julie Garwood books are. After all, the other night you did say she was an 'interesting choice of reading.' Am I right?"

He leaned lightly against one of the bookshelves and put on a serious face. "Nah, I'm more of a Karen Robards kind of man, myself."

I was shocked. Blue Eyes named off a real romance writer. He didn't make up some name and try to pass it off as a real author. The thing that had me confused was how he had ever heard of Karen Robards? I mean, yes, she is a popular romance writer, but she's not exactly a popular household name like Mary Higgins Clark and Stephen King. So, I had to wonder if Blue Eyes had actually read a book by Karen Robards. Was Blue Eyes an in-the-closet romance reader? Or was he gay?

I mean, most boys (if they read at all) read real literature or sci-fi. Not romance.

I suddenly didn't like the idea of him reading romance novels.

If he was gay, then that meant I had been called cute the other night by a gay guy. I had hoped that if Blue Eyes had seen me as "cute" then maybe other guys (namely Arcade Dude) may seem me in the same way. However, coming from a gay guy, the information no longer seemed reliable.

If Blue Eyes was straight, well, he seemed less masculine to me. While every girl dreams of a sympathetic guy, they don't want a pansy, and a guy reading romance novels seemed too pansy-ish to me. A man _writing_ a romance novel didn't seem as bad as a man reading one.

I know I sound kind of hateful, and I don't even know why I'm fretting about it. After all, I like Arcade Dude. Why should it bother me if Blue Eyes is a secret Karen Robards fan?

Or maybe, in the past, while looking at the books in a grocery store he happened to see a Karen Robards book and remembered her name. No big deal, then.

Still, I had to know. So I asked, "Really?" in one of those you-pick-your-nose?-well-that's-nice sort of voices.

He quirked his lip to the side, and found a spot near my right ear to stare at. "I used to read them to my mom while she was in chemotherapy."

A huge rush of air left my lungs in one swift blow. There I had been, worrying that he might be a little too in touch with his sensitive side, when he was just a caring human being. I felt like a heel, a heel of well worn shoes that had walked through dog crap.

His usage of the past tense hadn't escaped my notice, but before I could mutter the appropriate sympathetic response, he straightened away from the bookshelf and smiled as if he had just commented on something mundane and amusing. "Actually," he said, "I heard you had some used college text books, and I wanted to see if you had any that I need for next semester."

I guess it's uncomfortable to talk about. I wouldn't really know myself, since no one close to me has ever died, at least while I've been alive. My mom's dad died before I was born, so it really doesn't count.

I wonder how long she's been gone, and if he's used to it. Or does it still hurt?

For some reason, the idea of him hurting touched some maternal instinct I never knew I had. It made me want to make him smile, a real smile, and not the fake one he'd put on when he'd changed the subject, either.

To be honest, this maternal instinct freaks me out. I mean, I've had fantasies about being held by guys, being kissed by them, but, in all frankness, I'm usually slightly uncomfortable and nervous around boys. The idea of me wanting to take the initiative and reach out to hug or touch a boy first (And Blue Eyes of all people!), before he makes a move, is somewhat surprising and new for me.

I don't really understand it.

Since Blue Eyes obviously wanted a change of subject, I directed him to the section of the store where we kept the textbooks. Then I returned to the front desk to allow him to browse through the books alone.

TA was back, managing her post, having sent Uranus to the back room once her bowels settled. Since there were no customers waiting to check out, TA was busy rearranging the display of bookmarks for sell.

"Put up the poster like I asked?" TA grated out.

When TA is talking, it's almost impossible not to stare at her lips. Her bottom lip is full, but the top one is so thin it's almost nonexistent. In an effort to balance out her lips, TA uses a bright red lipstick to not only color her bottom lip but to draw in a top lip for herself. The effect comes out looking like a schoolmarm who's just spent her planning period making out with a clown in the janitor's closet.

"Yes, I put up the poster."

"I heard you talking to the customer. Were you helpful?"

"I answered his questions."

"Good, good." She nodded her head, pleased with my responses, and moved a bookmark.

I began drumming my fingers quietly on the countertop, wishing TA would go spend another hour on the John so I could go back to playing solitaire on my cell phone between sells.

A middle aged woman came in with some used books to trade in for store credit, and after scanning the barcodes of the books into the computer to check our stock on the particular titles, I accepted four of the five books. The fifth book I handed back to the woman because we all ready had enough copies of that particular novel.

I then took the four novels to Uranus in the storage room, where she would then stamp the books' inside covers with our store logo and then check them for any damages.

When I came back to the counter, TA was browsing the long list of books we had in stock. In what I hoped was a discreet manner, I slipped my cell phone off my belt clip and opened my saved game of solitaire, but before I could really get into it, TA asked me to go check on our customer, a.k.a Blue Eyes.

Gulping silently, I slipped my phone back on my belt and forced myself to walk towards the nonfiction section of the store. Blue Eyes was crouched on the floor examining the row of textbooks lining the bottom self. He already had two books stacked beside him on the floor.

Deciding it would be best to avoid the topic of our earlier conversation, I went into cheerful-helper mode and pasted on my "helpful smile" that I give to all the customers. I figured the fake role would distance me from Blue Eyes and protect me from any embarrassment.

"Need some help?" I asked.

He jumped slightly when I spoke and glanced up quickly. "No, I think I've got everything." He blinked, and I started to turn around when he stopped me. "But, the thing is…" he trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.

My brows drew together as I followed the movement of that hand. Wasn't that a sign of nervousness? Was he about to elaborate more on his mother? I hoped not. That was way too personal for him to be telling me, a close-to-stranger girl who just happened to sexually harass him two days. He opened his mouth, and I prepared myself for what he was about to say.

"You like Arcade Dude, don't you?"

_That _I had not expected.

The first thing I asked myself was HOW THE HELL DOES HE KNOW THAT? I haven't told anyone, well outside of cyberspace, and I didn't think I was that obvious in me, er, feelings.

Just to make sure I had actually heard him correctly in the first place I asked, "What?" in my you're-crazy-as-hell voice.

"You like Arcade Dude." This time he didn't say it as though it were a question.

"You're crazy," I said forcefully while laughing nervously.

He just gave me a look that, oddly enough, reminded me of my mom when I was little and told her that I had not snuck a cookie out of the box when I and clearly had chocolate chip hanging from the corner of my mouth. I absently wondered if I had LIAR written on my forehead.

I still had the upper hand, however. I was standing. He was squatting in the middle of a bookstore.

I was the dominant figure, dammit.

Still refusing to let the cat out of the bag, I crossed my arms defensively and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

And you know what he said? Nothing. He had the gall to continue starring at me, like he knew his pretty blue eyes would pull a confession from me.

Want to know the sad thing?

His pretty blue eyes worked.

I couldn't stand it. They were _staring_ at me! I started to get nervous and fidgety, and even though I looked away I could _feel_ his eyes looking at me. I know its crazy and cliché being able to "feel" someone looking at you, but I swear I could feel his eyes looking into every tiny pore on my body. Maybe I did have liar written all over my skin in invisible ink, and his eyes were the secret decoder.

Trying to be nonchalant, I asked, "So what if I like him?"

"Nothing, I just figured I could help you get him." He shrugged and stood up with his selected books under his right arm.

"Excuse me?"

Again, I wasn't sure I had heard him right.

"I live with him. We're OK friends. I can tell you about him, help you to get him to notice you and stuff."

"He notices me."

And he does…when he's not sucking face with Venus.

"But not the way you want him to."

OK, I couldn't argue with him there.

Still suspicious, I asked, "What's in it for you?"

He seemed to pause for a moment before answering, "Venus."

"Say what?"

"You get Arcade Dude and I get Venus."

"You like Venus?"

I was shocked. He liked Venus? God, not another one of her followers! Why does everyone fall in lust with Venus? Even girls at school envy her when they aren't calling her a slut.

Blue Eyes shrugged. "Yeah. So are you with me or not?"

I wanted to say not, but he was willing to help me get closer to Arcade Dude. Sure, he had his own agenda, but at least it matched mine. Besides, just a few days ago I was thinking about plotting my own attempt to break the two up. Now I had the option of a partner to help me.

So why was I hesitating? I wondered.

"So are you in?" he asked again.

"Um, listen, I need to get back to work. I, uh, get off at six. Think we could meet somewhere to, ah, discuss this further?"

OK, so I was stalling and doing a shoddy job at it. At the moment though, I hadn't really cared.

"Umm, no. I have to be at work at six-fifteen. I'm working 'till ten. Are you free tomorrow?"

Tomorrow? This guy was serious! Serious about breaking up Venus and Arcade Dude, I mean.

I started to feel uneasy. After all, this guy I barely knew was willing to help me steal Arcade Dude. I think I had yet to address this guy by his name! Now we were supposed to be friends? Or were we going to be partners in crime? No, crime's too illegal sounding, and trying to break up a couple was far from being illegal.

Unethical? Sure.

Sneeky? You bet.

But illegal? No way!

Still, I was feeling anxious and not entirely because of whom my partner was. Was this what I wanted, to steal my sister's boyfriend?

But I still informed him of my plans tomorrow. "My friend Jupiter has a home soccer game tomorrow. I was planning on going."

He seemed to think it over a moment. "What time is the game?"

Cautious, I answered slowly, "Six-thirty. The boy's game starts at eight o'clock."

I was worried. Did he plan on going to Jupiter's soccer game so we could talk and plan out our evil plans? What if does show up and Jupiter spots us sitting together on the bleachers? I'd never hear the end of it! Or worse, he's still there when the girls' game is over and Jupiter decides to sit with us to watch the boys' game!

I know Jupiter. She'll sit there, assuming there's something between us, jabbing me with her elbow. She would never believe that we were "just friends" or some other excuse, especially since she saw me pinch his butt.

I know what she'd say: "There is no way you can claim to be just friends with a guy as hot as him because you can't help but want there to be more, and when you want there to be more, you've moved beyond the just friends thing."

However, Blue Eyes was thinking exactly what I was hoping he wasn't thinking. "Fine, I'll see you there. You go to the same school as you're sister right?"

I nodded, too shocked at the time to say, "Duh!"

"Can I have your cell phone number? You know, just in case I can't find your school. I'll probably get directions from Arcade Dude, but on the off chance I don't see him because of our, um, work schedules I can call you for directions."

I almost told him that I didn't have a cell phone. It was on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered that I had it clipped to my pants, a game of solitaire currently saved in its memory. So, I reluctantly—but cheerfully—gave him my number, which he programmed into his own cell phone, a spiffy looking camera phone that I bet had tons of games.

There was then an awkward moment where I didn't know what to say before I shifted my weight to the heels of my feet and said in my sales girl voice, "Ready to check out?"

"Sure," he shrugged and followed me to the counter, where instead of TA, I found Uranus leaning on the counter looking bored as usual.

I sent a look at her asking, "Why are you up front?" I half expected her to tell me that TA's diarrhea was back.

"Tight Ass is inspecting my work in back. She asked me to man the counter since you were with the customer."

"Tight Ass?" Blue Eyes asked from behind me.

Uranus gave him a curious look, and I answered his question as I moved around the counter to the cash register. "She's our boss. The nickname pretty much explains all."

"Oh."

He sat his books on the counter and I scanned their barcodes and told him his total. He paid and left, saying casually as the bell above the door tinkled, "See you tomorrow."

"Know him?" Uranus asked after we watched his truck pull out.

"Yes. No. Well sort of. I mean, he's my sister's boyfriend's roommate."

"What a mouthful. He's cute for a guy. I bet he likes you."

I almost laughed. If only she knew. "Nah, he likes someone else."

"Yeah, and he just happened to come here."

Yeah, I thought with some irony, he came here to pump me for information on my sister.

After work, I walked home as usual, passing Nasty Magazine Guy on the way. He yelled something crude at me, like he normally does, and I pretended that he didn't exist, like I normally do.

Once home, I ate dinner with my family, including Venus who decided not to go out with friends and eat. Throughout dinner I kept playing with my carrots (Blech! Vegetables suck!) and wondering what I would say to Blue Eyes tomorrow. He seemed so determined about splitting up Venus and Arcade Dude.

I guess determinations a good thing, even in this case.

'Nite, World.

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/20/04-8:43 PMeastern

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Response: SeXyAbAbE

What the fuck? He likes your sister? Did NOT see that coming. Well, seems like Arcade Dude is just an evil plot away.

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Response: PantySnatcher33:

Did you ever hear the verse of the diarrhea song: "If you step on a ladder and you feel something splatter, diarrhea, diarrhea?" Kind of ironic, huh?

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Response: JoshIsMINE:

I had such hopes for Blue Eyes. I could have sworn that was flirting on his behalf earlier, but I guess I was wrong. Male minds do confuse me, except my Josh. His voice and lyrics touch the soul. _He's_ not confusing as hell.

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Respnse: AniIZmyLeADer:

All this confusion for a boy? Seems like a waste of time to me.

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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:

Males are more complicated than women like to give them credit for. She has a right to be confused. He's not thinking about sex or sports, contrary to popular belief.

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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:

Oh, really? Then, pray tell, what is the mysterious Blue Eyes thinking about?

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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:

I don't know exactly, but that Blue Eyes guy might know more than he lets on he knows. For example, he may know more about Arcade Dude's feelings than he's letting on. He may know that Arcade Dude already does like Bunny, and this is his way of helping out a friend.

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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:

Obviously, boys do not have thesauruses. Know: realize, get, understand, comprehend, grasp.

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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:

Shut up.

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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:

Be quiet. Hush your mouth. Shhhhh. Be silent. Shut your pie-hole. Stuff it. Can it.

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Response: IH8Dis

This has turned into a freak show.

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**

* * *

**

ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/20/04

10:36 PM eastern

Today, I think I came as close to being a stalker as I've ever come before. Now, before a whole bunch of people freak out, let me clarify that I was NOT sitting outside someone's window with a camera, panting heavily through my mouth.

Last night, I decided I'd had enough of Andrew's bullshit. So, plans began to formulate in my mind, sick twisted plans that my mom would have disapproved of. She would have told me it isn't right to mess with the minds of young innocent girls. However, I'm saving the minds—maybe even the hearts—of said girls. They just won't know it, at least not to begin with.

After I decided what I was going to do, I began pumping information from Andrew about Serena. Where she worked and what hours she worked there, for starters. Now, of course, Andrew suspects that I want to go out with Serena, which I probably wouldn't mind if she wasn't so clueless and in love with Andrew.

If asking her out for a date were my only motivation, I would have just shown up at her house (since I know where she lives) and I could have also avoided humbling myself to a smirking Andrew.

In order for my plan to work, however, Serena needs to think I DON'T like her, or at least that I don't like her more than friends.

So today, I went to the bookstore where Serena works. I already had my strategy in mind, and I was fairly confident in my ability to pull my plan off. Then, I walked through the doors of the bookstore and couldn't find Serena. That was when I began to worry. If I couldn't "accidentally" bump into her while she was at work, where could I find her and still make it look as through it were a random meeting.

I started to wonder if Andrew had just sent me on some stupid wild goose chase, the goose being the books and the wild being the half naked men on some of the covers. I wasn't about to give up just yet, so I walked past the woman at the counter towards the back of the store. I figured that if I didn't find Serena there, I could at least check out the sci fi section.

But as I reached the back of the store, I heard her before I saw her. Beneath her breath she was singing one of those songs I think I sang in elementary school, one of the more disgusting songs that would put me at the receiving end of some stern looks from my teachers. I wasn't familiar with the verse she was singing beneath her breath, but as she came into my view, I recognized the memorable melody.

Serena was standing on her toes at the top rung of a step-ladder. With her hand, she reached to smooth out the top corner of a humongous poster depicting a wine glass with a red substance (I assume blood) mixing with the drink. The title of the book being advertised was _Unearthly_. I was unable to find the connection between the book cover and its title.

"If you step on a bug," she sang with her back to me, "and you feel something tug."

I couldn't resist the temptation; it was too great.

"Diarrhea, diarrhea," I said, smirking slightly as I thought back to fourth grade, when the whole class had burst out into that song after Timothy Todd farted during the middle of a spelling test.

I probably should not have just jumped in on the middle of Serena's song like that because I, apparently, scared her. As soon as I said the first diarrhea, she was already jumping, and being in the position she was in, it was easy for her to lose her balance. Luckily, I was standing close enough to her when she had her klutz attack that I was able to steady her by reaching out and touching her arm.

Once she was steady on the ladder, I couldn't help but chuckle. The moment had been too classic, the basic premise for the slapstick humor everyone knows and loves.

She turned around wearing a glare on her face that quickly turned into surprise. I guess she wasn't expecting me to be standing there.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

I smiled. "Saving your life, it seems. You could have broken you neck if I had let you fall."

Not really, of course. The ladder wasn't even a ladder, really, since the top rung was only three feet or so from the floor, but I liked teasing her.

She made a comment on the improbability that she would break her neck, finished putting up the poster, and climbed down off the step-ladder.

"So what do you really want?" she asked, "I can point you to where the Julie Garwood books are. You did say the other night she was an 'interesting choice of reading,' right?"

For some reason, before I answered, I had this moment when I wondered how Andrew would have reacted to such an obvious blow to his manhood. He would have taken her teasing as being serious, then said something like: "Why would I want to read some stupid girly book? Those things are for pathetic little girls who can't get any."

I told myself to stop comparing myself to Andrew, and answered her teasing with my form of joking, "Nah, I'm more of a Karen Robards kind of man, myself."

I was expecting her to laugh. I thought it was funny, but apparently, she thought I was serious, that I really did stay up late at night, or something, reading romance novels. The thought must have weirded her out.

In the past, I have read Karen Robards novels to my mother when she was going in for her chemotherapy treatments. Dad couldn't always go with her, so I'd skip school and read to her when he couldn't go with her to her appointments.

"Really?" Serena asked, her eyes huge.

I could tell she was trying to act as though she was delighted to have found a guy who shared her interest in romance books, but Serena was a lousy actress.

For all I knew, she was starting to think I was gay—which I am NOT!

For my plan to work, she must think of me as the heterosexual that I am. The only way I could think to secure my sexuality was to tell the truth, and I did so in as few words as possible.

I still get uncomfortable whenever I discuss my mom. I never know what expression to put on. Emotionally, I'm as fine as I think I'll ever get, but I think people expect me to still be sad and torn up, on the brink of tears whenever someone mentions cancer or her name.

But the truth is I had a long enough to time mourn her death before she even passed on. When she was diagnosed with cancer, death was always in the back of my mind. She died so slowly, that I had enough time to go through all the steps of mourning before she even passed away in the hospital.

So when people, pause or look uncomfortable after they say something they think will upset me, I just switch the topic to help them out of their awkwardness.

I did the same for Serena.

"Actually," I told her, "I heard you had some used college text books, and I wanted to see if you had any that I need for next semester."

It was a complete lie, and I was hoping she had no idea that next semester is months away and that students haven't even registered for next semester, let alone know what books they will need.

Luckily, she seemed to have no clue. I guess she doesn't have much interaction with a lot of college students.

I followed her a few aisles over to where a large amount of textbooks were shelved. She left me there to peruse the collection. As I glanced over the titles and subjects, I tried to think of what I was going to say once I got her cornered.

I selected a few books almost at random, figuring I could put my plan into motion when I purchased them at the counter, but she came over to check my progress, like an annoying car salesman would.

Not that Serena is annoying, of course.

"Need some help?" she asked cheerfully as though we'd never met.

"No," I told her, "I think I've got everything." I paused, realizing it was the moment I had been waiting for. "But, the thing is…" I trailed off, not sure what to say.

I had everything planned out last night, but when it's time to put all my planning into action I freeze up. Great, just great, I thought to myself as I ran a hand through my hair.

I told myself that I would not chicken out, that what I was doing was a good thing, and opened my mouth.

"You like Andrew, don't you?" I asked.

Originally I had planned to strike up a conversation with her that eventually led to the topic of who she liked, but apparently I didn't have the patience for that.

And my forwardness startled her, if her expression (bug eyes and open mouth) was any clue.

"What?" she asked, trying to imply that I was insane.

Her reaction gave me more confidence. I was now ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that she liked Andrew.

"You like Andrew."

"You're crazy," she said, trying to enforce truth in her statement by laughing. When I continued to stare at her without saying anything, she let her laughter die.

She tried another tactic—I found it interesting that once I gained my own confidence I was able to see right through her—and said that she had no idea what I was talking about.

Still, I said nothing. My dad used to use this silent method when I was younger. Eventually, he always got me to confess, and confess Serena did.

"So what if I like him?"

"I figured I could help you get him," I told her, shrugging like it was nothing.

Apparently, though, she didn't understand me, so I had to elaborate, "I live with him. I can tell you enough about him that he might start noticing you."

"He notices me," she defended.

For once, I hated that she was so naïve. It was going to be hard to get her to realize that Andrew is one of the world's biggest jerks, but I figured it would be worth all the work.

"But not the way you want him to."

She seemed to give a bit, but still remained doubtful. "What's in it for you?"

After that, I knew what I said next would be the point of no return. Did I really want to do this? I wondered. Immediately, a part of me said yes.

"Mina."

Operation Expose Andrew was a go.

That's right. My plan is to make Serena believe that I want Andrew and Mina broken up because I like Mina. At first, I wasn't so sure about the plan since it could backfire in so many ways. Andrew could end up liking Serena, or Serena could find out that I'm lying to her, therefore, causing her attachment to Andrew to become stronger.

Serena had a hard time absorbing that I "liked" Mina at first, which did not bode well for my plan since I needed her to believe I was equally in love with Mina as she was with Andrew. She had to believe that we were equally motivated for the same cause, which meant I had to be a believable liar.

"You like Mina?"

Either she was being hard to convince, or I was not plausible enough.

Trying to be confident, I shrugged and said, "Yeah. So are you with me or not?"

She was silent for a long time, and I tried to be patient and let her think it through, but it got to the point where I figured she needed to be reminded that I was waiting for her to give me an answer, and I asked, "So, are you in?"

She then stuttered out that she got off at six, and wanted to meet somewhere to "discuss this further."

The thing was, I had to work tonight until ten, which I explained to her. I started to get worried. If I couldn't get her to agree to break up Mina and Andrew now, she would have enough time to come up with a reason to say no.

However, I couldn't think of a way for us to discuss it today, so I asked her about tomorrow.

"My friend Lita has a home soccer game tomorrow. I was planning on going."

Since I was grasping for straws, I figured a soccer game was as good a place as any to talk.

I asked, "What time is the game?"

I don't think she was all that willing to tell me, but she gave me the time of the game anyway, probably because she was too nice not to give it to me.

Then I told her I'd see her at the game before asking for her cell number. I told her I wanted the number in case I couldn't find the school, but that was another lie. I already knew where her high school was, since I pass by it on my way to work.

I really wanted her number so I could get in contact with her in the future, whenever I wanted her to meet me someplace where, conveniently, Andrew and his latest sex candy could be seen together, and thus bring to light his scumbag ways.

I checked out and left the bookstore, sincerely hoping that everything would turn out fine.

At work, I tried not to think about what I should have said in replace of the things I had said. In between orders, though, I couldn't help but wonder what I would say tomorrow at the soccer game.

I also wondered how, when she realized that I had lied to her—and she'll find out eventually—I was going to keep her from hating me. I want to be her friend, but she's an honest person, and I highly doubt she will be forgiving of lies, even if they are well intentioned.

Oh, well, I guess I'll see how everything goes tomorrow.

Today's Useless Information: The average "pouring speed" of Heinz ketchup from the bottle is 0.003 mph.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenThumbs-4/20/04-10:36 PMeastern

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Response: TheWoRlDsDed

God, you're messed up. Your idea is completely twisted. What were you thinking?

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Response: NYsubwayMan

I think you're going about this the wrong way, man.

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Response: cutie4lyfe

This was the first of your diary entries that I've read. I had to go back a few days to try to figure out just exactly what is going on. I don't understand your reasoning behind your plan. I know you want to get her to realize your roommate is a playboy, but this will backfire. Once she figures out you've lied to her she'll hate you as much as Andrew. Trust me. Take my advice, a girl's advice. She's not going to suddenly fall in love with you once you air out Andrew's laundry. Are you sure the end justifies the means?

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Response: HomeworkBound

Hope everything goes according to plan.

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Response: xtreamSK8TERdude

Wow! Brilliant, man. Truly brilliant.

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Response: IH8Dis

When you go off to save the girl, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor, make sure you don't stab yourself with your own sword. OK?

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* * *

A.N. Tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 


	6. Chapter Six

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMER: As extensive as my imagination may be, I am not the creator of Sailor Moon. Poo…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, uhm…it's been about a year. Uhm….Please don't kill me. Heh heh. So how about those Red Sox? cough, cough LOVE YOU!!!

CHAPTER SIX…

**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/21/04

10:12 AM eastern

When I woke up this morning, it finally hit me that I am crazy. I really shouldn't butt into other people's business; I never have before. So, I began to wonder, what is so different about now? What was the catalyst that suddenly had me deciding to interfere?

I really shouldn't meddle. Nothing good ever came from meddling. A lot of movies were made with just that type of plot to show the consequences of meddling. Meddling is bad, very bad.

But I figured it was too late to do anything, now.

So, I rolled out of bed, took my shower, and went to my first class, statistics, where my Colonel Sanders professor bored everyone with his discussion on truth tables, which, in my opinion, have nothing to do with math.

After the concept of truth tables was fully ingrained into my brain, I started this because I really have nothing else to do. I could probably just leave class right now, but there is always the chance the professor will decided to introduce a new topic five minutes before class ends, a simple topic that doesn't take long to teach or comprehend but will count as fifty-percent on the next test.

The guy beside me, right now, is watching the _Batman Begins_ DVD on his laptop, and occasionally I'll look over to see what's going on. It's kind of interesting, though, watching him watching the movie because you can actually see him not using any of his brain cells.

I wonder what his grade is in this class.

I just glanced up at the board. The professor is STILL talking about truth tables because a girl in the front of the class has not grasped the concept of them. Everyone else is spacing out because they have either mastered the topic, or they just don't give a damn, like the guy beside me, whose bored expression does not match the action scenes displayed on his laptop.

Obviously, this is not the first time he has viewed the movie.

After this class, I have two more classes, then three-and-a-half hours until the soccer game. I know Serena will have had time to think of plenty of reasons why she shouldn't try to break up her sister and Andrew, and I'm going to have to try to talk her into it, even though I'm a little nervous about the whole idea myself.

But maybe, as I'm talking Serena into everything, I'll talk myself into thinking it's a brilliant idea as well. The downside is that I'm going to have to pretend to like Mina for who-knows-how-long.

Tonight, I guess I'll post another entry and record everything that happens at the game. That way, I'll be able to keep track of all my lies.

Today's Useless Information: To be posted.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenThumbs-4/21/04-10:12 AMeastern

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Response: TheWoRlDsDed

Was it really necessary for you to post this entry because it was just a bunch of blah blah blah. If you're going to write stuff, make sure it's interesting.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/21/04

12:16 PM eastern

I'm hiding in the school library right now. I'm supposed to be in the school cafeteria since its lunch, but I'd just like to avoid Jupiter right now. I made the mistake of telling her during economics class that I might be bringing someone to her game tonight. When she asked who, I couldn't lie to her. After all, she'd see him at the game.

"What? You're bringing the hot waiter? How did this happen?"

I told her about everything that happened at the bookstore. I left out the part about us scheming and plotting, of course. She'd just call me stupid or something for having a crush on my sister's boyfriend.

"He likes you!" She smiled with glee, and I groaned inside my head. Why does everyone have to assume that Blue Eyes likes me? I wish I could just tell them he likes Venus, but then I'd have to explain everything else. And I just can't do that.

Then, Jupiter asked, "So what are you wearing tonight?"

I looked down at the clothes I was—and still am—wearing, and said, "This."

"You can't wear that."

Again, I looked down at my clothes. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing. They just aren't date clothes. Those are I'm-going-to-school-and-it's-Wednesday-and-I-don't-give-a-fuck-how-I-look clothes."

That's not what had been going through my mind when I picked out the pair of jeans and school spirited T-shirt. I figured the T-shirt had been a good choice since I was going to be supporting my friend and school at tonight's game.

"First, it's not like we're going to the movies, and second, it is not—I repeat, not—a date."

"If you say so."

I had grumbled underneath my breath, fished a book from my book bag, and ignored her for the rest of the period.

I'm dreading tonight, and here comes Jupiter. She's walking this way.

Got to go.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/21/04-12:16 PMeastern

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Response: BoiWidallDFun

It's a date, babe. At least, that's what he's gonna be thinking. I don't buy all that I-like-your-sister shit.

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

You sound—well not sound, per se, since I'm reading your words and not hearing them—upset that it's not a date. Methinks you like him. You go girl.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/21/04

9:52 PM eastern

Oh. My. God. This guy (Blue Eyes) is insane! An absolute lunatic! Certified crazy!

You want to know why?

HE WANTS ME TO PRETEND TO BE HIS GIRLFRIEND!

How crazy is that? Yeah, I know, stupid crazy.

I had known we were going to meet at the soccer game to discuss relationship ruining strategies. I had no idea, however, that I would be entering a pretend relationship. Crap like that only happens in movies.

Anyway, Uranus dropped me off at my school after work so I wouldn't have to walk, because she's nice like that, unlike my sister, who takes pleasure in "forgetting" to drive me to school in the morning.

The stands were almost empty when I got to the school and remained that way the rest of the night because the students at my school are not big soccer supporters even though they are one of the few teams at our school that actually wins any games. Since there were so few people there to watch the game, it didn't take me long to realize that Blue Eyes hadn't arrived yet.

I took a seat somewhere in the middle of the stands, away from the other people present so Blue Eyes would be able to spot me quickly when he arrived. As I waited, I casually watched Jupiter and the rest of the girls' team warm up before the game, and every now and then I would glance around to see if I could spot Blue Eyes approaching.

Just when I was starting to feel really awkward sitting all by myself, I saw Blue Eyes glancing around, presumably looking for me. Even though I was slightly glad to see him there because it meant I didn't have to sit alone anymore, I refrained from waving for his attention, choosing instead to pretend to have a keen interest in Jupiter's warm up drills.

After all, I didn't want to seem too eager to destroy my sister's relationship with Arcade Dude.

He found me quickly enough, sat down on my left side, and said, "Hi."

"Hi," I said back in an overly cheerful voice, fake even to my ears, but he didn't seem to notice anything weird.

Then there was an awkward silence:

Me: "…"

Him: "…"

I kept wondering what to say. How exactly does one go about starting a conversation that will end up with both parties plotting to break two people up? Saying, "So the weather's nice" seems a bit too far from topic, but jumping in and asking, "So how do I make Arcade Dude mine?" would be rushing it a bit.

So, I said instead: "…"

And he replied: "…"

Yup, you guessed it. There was more silence, and that silence probably would have continued had Blue Eyes, bless him, not decided to say something.

"So which one's your friend?" he asked me, which I found kind of surprising. I had assumed he would want to get straight to point of why we were meeting, which is what I wanted to do.

I was beginning to view the whole situation as though it were one giant band-aid that needed to be ripped off as quickly as possible to obtain the least amount of pain. I wasn't eager about turning into a lying, scheming boyfriend snatcher, but I really like Arcade Dude.

Just once, I have decided, I am going to go after the boy I like and not wait patiently for signs that he likes me. In the past, I usually ended up waiting too long, so long, in fact, that I no longer had a crush on the boy. But that was not going to happen this time. This time I am going to fight even though, technically, I have no official claim to Arcade Dude other than my profound belief that Venus is not the kind of girl he needs or wants.

So I was feeling slightly antsy when he asked a question that implied he was in no hurry to start talking business, but I answered him anyway.

"Number nine."

I watched as Blue Eyes searched the field for Jupiter's number, and when his brows drew together, I correctly predicted what he said next.

"Isn't she…"

"Yeah," I shifted on the bleacher, "she was the one with me at the restaurant the day…"

a) … we met.

b) … I had a good lunch with a friend after church.

c) … I grabbed your ass.

d) All of the above.

I figured it was best if I let him silently finish the sentence. No need bring up the past, right?

When he chuckled, we both knew he was thinking what I wished he wasn't thinking. All that mattered, however, was the fact that he didn't _say_ anything, anything that pertained to our first meeting, at least.

Instead, he asked, "So what position does she play?"

Relaxing a bit I told him that she played as a center. He nodded and hmmed.

Why wasn't he saying anything pertaining to the reason we had met? Why was he asking me about soccer when he should be asking me how I wanted to go about stealing Arcade Dude from Venus? I wondered.

Finally, I decided it was time to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak.

"So, uhm, what's your master plan?"

He looked surprised, then uncomfortable before he answered, "You're probably not going to like."

Uh oh. I didn't like the sound of that, but I was determined to hear what he had to say.

"Let's hear it anyway," I said with more bravado than I thought I could muster.

He cleared his throat and said: (You can probably already guess since I've already told you but…) "I think we should pretend to be dating to make Venus and Arcade Dude jealous."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Sorry. Just typing about it is freaking me out.

I have never had a real boyfriend, just those superficial pre-boyfriends, who only get as far as a goodnight kiss (of which I've had two). Now, I am about to have a pretend one because—you guessed it—I agreed to go along with his plan, even after I heard what it was.

I didn't readily agree to it, of course. I physically balked at the idea, and it must have been some really ugly balking because Blue Eyes gave a dry laugh.

"Told you that you didn't want to hear it."

"Well, this is, uhm. Do you actually think it will work?"

Because I found it a hard to believe that it would work.

"It's the best I could come up with. Do you have a better idea?"

Besides kidnapping Arcade Dude and threatening him within an inch of his life? No. I had absolutely no plan of my own, other than doing everything in my power to get Arcade Dude to notice me.

That, _obviously_, hadn't been working.

"No," I sighed.

"So are you up for it?"

"I don't know if I would make a very convincing girlfriend," I told him, silently recalling my two goodnight kisses.

"Nah, it will be OK. It's not like we have to constantly be on show. You'd just have to pretend to be happy to see me when I pick you up for dates, and if we run into Venus or Arcade Dude while we're out, we'll pretend to be a lovey-dovey couple. Other than that it will be like it is now."

I realized then that I was fairly comfortable around him. You know, when I wasn't worrying about his mental health because he was CRAZY!

Again, sorry. I should probably be worrying about my own sanity. After all, I agreed to go along with the plan. That's right, I agreed to be his fake girlfriend sometime during halftime, when Jupiter's team was huddling on the sidelines, their coach giving them a pep talk.

I hadn't given him an answer after he initially asked me because the game had started then, and I was determined to use it as a distraction. I pretended to be really interested in the movements of the ball so I could avoid giving my answer. Thankfully, he didn't push for an answer.

But a few minutes after the referee blew the whistle for halftime, Blue Eyes asked, "So?"

and I knew what he was wondering about.

"All right. I'll do it."

Now, ever since I said that, my stomach has been feeling weird. It's a lot like the stomach-full-of-butterflies-feeling. It started off as just one or two butterflies, but multiplied into many, many more after the girls' game ended (We won 4-3) and Blue Eyes saw Jupiter making her way to us through the bleachers. That's when he suggested that we "might as well start dating now."

Then he took my hand, and it began to feel like I had a swarm of migrating monarch butterflies making their way through my innards. That's when it really hit me, and I realized that I was about to star in my own play, a play with a script that had yet to be written but was bound to have tons of lines for me to say.

Then I remembered how shitty of an actress I was, but by then it was too late to back out because Jupiter had already spotted our linked hands.

She had the gall to look smug, like it was because of her that we were holding hands and going out, so to speak.

At that moment, I felt like throwing up butterflies.

Instead, I had smiled up at Jupiter and said, "Good game."

"It was OK. We could have played better."

"Hey, a win's an win," I told her.

She shrugged. "Hey, I gotta pee. Come with me, Bunny?"

It was obvious that she wanted to grill me, but I couldn't think of a polite way to say "Hell no" that wouldn't cause her to suddenly decide to make a scene in front of Blue Eyes.

So I glanced at Blue Eyes, smiled apologetically, and followed her to the restroom, where she rushed to a stall and closed the door. Apparently, she wasn't lying.

From behind the stall door she commented sarcastically, "Not a date, huh?"

"It's not a date!" I denied. In a softer voice I added, "Or at least it wasn't."

"I heard that." The toilet flushed, and Jupiter exited, crossing the room to towards the sink to wash her hands. "So it's a date now, right? See, I told you."

That's Jupiter, never one to deny anyone of an I-told-you-so. I just hate how many times I'm on the receiving end of an I-told-you-so.

I glanced at our reflections in the large mirror that ran across all four of the sinks and watched as I lied to her.

"Yeah, it's a date."

She didn't even bother trying to hide her excitement. "You guys are so cute together. Oh, you have a date for prom now! Go Bunny, go Bunny."

She was dancing. Literally. It was some weird little jig that was a cross between the Twist and the gotta-go-gatta-go-gatta-go-right-now dance, and her cleats were making a weird crunching sound on the tiled floor.

"Stop it," I pleaded, blushing because that's what I do when I'm being teased.

"OK, I'll stop. I'm just so happy for you!"

I began to feel some of those butterflies attempt to escape. It was hard for me to no go rushing over to the nearest toilet to throw up insect parts.

When we returned to the stands, the boys' game was about to start. It wasn't hard to pretend that I was interested in the boys' game in order to ignore Blue Eyes because the boys' game is always more entertaining.

I'm not dissing the girls' team, but the truth is that the boys play better together. Their passing is more synchronized. Plus, they are more aggressive with the ball, kicking it harder and jumping higher to head the ball.

Jupiter and I cheered the different players, jumping up and screaming whenever a goal was scored by the home team. Blue Eyes laughed at our antics but made it a point to take hold of my hand each time I sat down after a bout of jumping and hollering.

The boys won 5-0, and as they walked off the field I realized I had a bit of a problem. Usually, Jupiter gives me a ride home after games, but with Blue Eyes at the game, I knew she expected him to take me home.

And sure enough, Jupiter thought she was free of being my personal taxi.

"Hey, Bunny, I'm gonna stick around and talk to the boys. See you tomorrow. Nice seeing you again Blue Eyes." She smiled brightly at Blue Eyes and then walked away, leaving me awkwardly standing there, knowing I needed to bum a ride off of him because there was no way in hell I was going to walk home that late at night.

"Hey, uhm, usually Jupiter gives me a ride home, but since she thinks we're…" I trailed off.

"Don't worry, I can give you a ride."

His car, a black truck, was parked fairly close to the school, and we chatted about the game as we made our way to the parking lot.

"I never went to a soccer game while I was in high school," he admitted, "I'm more into American football, but I got to admit that I had fun tonight. Of course, if may have just been the company." Before I had a chance to ponder at how in depth he was going with the whole fake-couple thing, he added, "You and your friend are fun to watch. What was up with all the nicknames you have for the boy players?"

I laughed. When I first started going to soccer games, I had a hard time understanding the positions and rules. So, during my first attendance to a boys' game, Jupiter tried to explain the game by pointing out the players and telling me their assigned positions. I had a hard time, however, keeping track of the players even though they were numbered like billiard balls.

So we came up with nicknames for the players, names such as Gazelle for the player whose running reminded us of a leaping gazelle. There was Goldie Locks, the guy with the curly blond hair, and the three Hispanic brothers Jupiter dubbed Taco, Burrito, and Enchilada. I asked her if we were being racist by calling them that, but she had told me that the other boys on the team call them The Three Mexicans, which the brothers didn't mind even though they were from Venezuela.

"The nicknames were the result of Jupiter trying to teach me the ways of soccer. They kind of stuck around," I eventually told him.

During the short ride to my house we let the radio do the talking for us, and it was surprisingly comfortable. Course, the drive took less than ten minutes so there wasn't much time to make it uncomfortable.

When we got to my house he told me to wait while he got my car door. Flustered, I insisted that it wasn't necessary, that no one was around to see.

"You never know," was his reply.

I let him open the door and then walk me up the path to my house. He was really serious about the fake-date thing. It made me wonder if he was really that gentlemanly or if it was all for show.

Either way it made me a bit uncomfortable. I am used to opening my own doors and walking myself up to my house. Having someone else there to help me was both charming and…weird. But it was not like I could stop him. I was just thankful that he didn't kiss me.

He did, however, take my hand and squeeze it one last time before I went inside, which I found to be completely unnecessary. Even if someone had been watching, they couldn't have been paying close enough attention to notice the extra pressure he applied to my hand.

When I was inside, I found Venus sitting on the couch watching TV. I decided it was time to begin Operation Smitten.

Making my movements slightly more exaggerated than usual I parted the curtains of the front window and watched Blue Eyes back out of the driveway. Venus has done that same particular move after her more memorable dates with Arcade Dude.

When Blue Eyes' car was gone, I sighed and turned to smile at Venus.

Her eyebrows were raised. "I'm guessing that wasn't Jupiter."

"You guessed right," I said confidently. At least, I hope I sounded confident.

"Then who was it?"

"Blue Eyes."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Normally I might have ended it there, but tonight my goal was not to keep my romantic life secret from my sister, but rather to exploit it.

Surprisingly, she seemed upset, but I couldn't tell if it was because she was jealous or because she was surprised to find out I have a love life, albeit a fake one.

But she didn't know that.

"How'd this happen?"

"Yesterday he showed up at the bookstore. We talked, and I invited him to Jupiter's game."

"That's it?"

No. "Pretty much."

"Wow. Well, that's cool. Hey maybe now we can double."

I doubted that would happen. Instead I told her, "Yeah, maybe."

Then I ascended the stairs to my—our room—where I started to write this. Now it's finished, and yet I'M STILL FREAKING OUT!!!

How do I pretend to have a boyfriend? Will I have to kiss him? How many fake dates am I going to have to go out on?

WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS?!

Please, will somebody _please_ tell me I'm not crazy? Please?

Goodnight, World.

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/21/04-9:52 PMeastern

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Response: LastBREATH

You know, the whole stealing your sister's boyfriend appealed to me at first, but now I'm starting to second guess my thinking. This plan of yours seems a little too farfetched. You said yourself that scenarios like this only occur in movies. Well I'm betting that happy endings, as well, only happen in movies. You're just setting yourself up for disaster.

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Response: SeXyZbAbE

Hell, girl. You sure know how to live. Your life's like a damn soap opera, only without the comas and surprise pregnancies. Hey, you don't think your sister's pregnant, do yah?

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Response: boxersORbriefs

Soccer rocks!!! I bet your friend Jupiter is a real beast (in a good way, of course) if she plays center.

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Response: mmmmDoughnuts

What do you call a rich walnut? A DOUGHNUT!!!!

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Response: AniIZmyLeADer

Most girls like it when a guy opens a door for a girl, but I find it annoying. Let this guy know where you stand. Let him know that you want to be his equal in this pretend relationship you have entered with him. If he is going to open doors for you, then make sure he knows that you plan on opening doors for him. Women and men are equal!

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Response: DannyBoi89

Bunny, don't listen to that AniIZmyLeADer chick. Blue Eyes was not trying to belittle you by opening the car door. He was showing you that he respects you. That's all.

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AniIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:

If anything, Blue Eyes was mocking her. He was putting on a show for anyone who may or may not have been watching. He was saying, "Hey, look at my bitch." His gentlemanly act was just that: An act.

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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:

Oh, get down from your soap box. Even if it was just an act, at least he has enough sense to know how to behave like a guy should around a lady. Besides, Bunny doesn't seem too upset over the fact that he opened her door. So, I don't see why your panties should be in a twist.

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AniIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:

I'm upset because this girl's feminine spirit is being oppressed by this boy and his take-charge, chauvinistic attitude. If she's smart, she will not go through with this silly plan and forget all about Blue Eyes and her sister's boyfriend.

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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:

If she's smart, she won't listen to you.

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IH8Dis responded to DannyBoi89's response to AniIZmyLeADer:

Why don't you two go find a broom closet together and put your sexual tension to good use?

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Response: IH8Dis

You are one cra-a-zy motherfucker.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/21/04

10:22 PM eastern

Well, I did it.

I went to the soccer game tonight at Serena's school and presented her with my plan, and now I have an imaginary girlfriend, which should not be confused with an imaginary girlfriend a guy makes up to impress his friends because in my case there is, technically, a living, breathing girl involved.

We just have an arrangement in which we date, but not really. Sort of like friends-with-benefits only without the sexual benefits.

I'm still reeling from the fact that she agreed to do it. I didn't have to plead or talk her into it or anything. Sure, she stalled a bit before answering, but in the end she agreed.

She had a few questions and a few doubts concerning the probability success of my plan, which was to be expected, and I tried to answer them the best I could and in the least intimidating of ways.

Honestly? I was surprised she didn't ask more questions than she did. Mostly, she just voiced some doubts about her ability to give a believable performance. Then she ignored me the rest of the night.

Maybe ignored is the wrong word, so let me rephrase that. She became introverted the rest of the night. She went all shy, which I, admittedly, found rather adorable and cute, but she doesn't know that.

I think she just wanted to avoid the subject tonight, which is fine and might actually work with my plan. I'm not _really_ after Mina, so it doesn't really matter to me whether the pretend boyfriend-girlfriend thing is believable or not.

I just have to make Serena think she is pulling off some grand caper and then have her walk in accidentally on Andrew with Barbara (or whoever) doing it somewhere.

OK. Maybe that's a bit harsh. All she needs to see is them kissing. Shy, innocent Serena does not need to see Andrew impaling some chick with his penis. Seeing him kiss another girl will be enough for Serena to realize he is not boyfriend material.

God, I hope I can pull this off because I have a feeling it is going to be a lot harder than I originally planned. It always looks easier in the movies.

It first dawned on me that things would not go smoothly when I took Serena's hand tonight (We decided to start making it look official when Serena's soccer playing friend Lita joined us in the bleachers at the end of her game). Taking her hand wasn't the hard part. That was easy.

It was the way Serena tensed when touched her that had me thinking "Uh oh." I forgot that Serena's shyness was the result of inexperience. Just holding her hand freaked her out. What would happen when I had to kiss her to make our relationship more believable?

She'd freeze up like a dead body in a mafia don's freezer, is what.

Admittedly, I don't think she would be as tense if no one were watching, but how are we supposed to make people think we are dating if they don't see us kiss.

I could give her a hickey, I guess, but that would embarrass the hell out of her.

Then again, people really don't have to believe we are dating in order for the plan to work; however, Serena has to think that people think we are dating because she thinks were are trying to make Mina and Andrew jealous.

God, this is confusing. Maybe it is a good thing I am keeping this diary. It's like a record of all the lies I've told.

I hate lying. I keep telling myself that "the end justifies the means," but I still feel like shit. A lying shit.

Oh well, this shit has already stepped too far into the shit to back out now.

Shit. Sorry, I feel like saying that word. If I could I'd say it over and over as loud as possible. Too bad for me it is not socially acceptable. So bare with me why I get it out of my system in writing:

Shit. SHIT! Shhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttttttttt! Shitty. Shitmister. Shitola. Shit. Shittier. Shittiest. Shit this!! Shit on you, and you, and you. Yeah, shit this.

OK. I'm done. Sometimes I think it is therapeutic to just randomly say your favorite cuss word in funny voices. Weird, I know, but both amazingly fun and entertaining.

So anyway, my plan. Tomorrow, I plan on surprising Serena at work. I figure we'll go to the arcade where Andrew works after she gets off and make our first public appearance as a "couple" (I don't really count last night). I'll tell Serena that it will be the first step in making Andrew jealous yada yada. We'll act chummy, and she'll believe it is part of the plan.

This is where I admit that there are perks to this plan of mine: Andrew will eventually get his comeuppance, and I get to spend time with Serena, who I have a feeling will be really fun to be around once she loosens up. After all, the girl did pinch my butt the first time I met her. Obviously there is a wild, fun side inside that blond head of hers. I believe it will be kind of enjoyable bringing out the rarely seen side of her.

Plus, the more she does something against her nature, the more she'll blush, and that is just so damn cute!

Today's Useless Information: A blue whale's tongue weighs more than an elephant.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenThumbs-4/21/04-10:22 PMeastern

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Response: NYsubwayMan

Have you ever thought about telling the truth? Sometimes the truth hurts, and other times the truth will set you free. Your odds are fifty-fifty, man. I'd go with the one that doesn't put your conscience through hell.

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Response: xtreamSK8ERdude

ABORT! ABORT! Dude, this girl sounds like a total virgin. As a rule, I stay away from those. Take my advice; it's not worth the trouble.

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SpeaksMyMind responded to xtreamSK8ERdude:

And just what's that supposed to mean?

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xtreamSK8ERdude responded to SpeaksMyMind:

­Hey, I meant nothing by what I said. I just meant that most virgins are kind of standoffish, you know? Like, they've got all these "Do Not Touch" signs taped all over their bodies. A cool dude like GreenThumbs shouldn't have to tip-toe around some girl just to get her to realize that Andrew has a girlfriend other than her sister. Jeeze.

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SpeaksMyMind responded to xtreamSK8ERdude:

I don't know how many virgins you've encountered, but I think your theories are stupid. I think you are put off by virgins because the only ones you've met were too smart to fall for you. I'd bet the only girls you can get to sleep with you are the ones who do it for money, and even then I bet they have to do it in the dark…with their eyes closed.

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xtreamSK8ERdude responded to SpeaksMyMind:

You know you want me.

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Response: KISSmeTenderly

I know you have a pretend girlfriend and all, but I'm still interested. Like I said before, I blush, especially when someone rubs their tongue along my…well you get the picture.

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xtreamSK8ERdude responded to KISSmeTenderly:

Hey, I don't know about GreenThumbs, but I'd love to have your number.

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Response: IH8Dis

I don't know who's more screwed up: you or your reviewers.

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A.N. I hope this was worth the wait. Tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Happy reviews are, too.


	7. Chapter Seven

TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager

AUTHOR: Dream Catcher

DISCLAIMERS: Blah blah…don't own Sailor Moon or anything else trademarked…blah blah.

CHAPTER SEVEN…

**ONLINE DIARIEZ . ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Online Confessions of a Teenager

**User:** JuneBunny

4/22/04

7:42 PM eastern

Mercury was already eating her Subway sandwich at our usual table when I sat down beside her at lunch today. "How are you doing?" she asked me.

Before I answered her, though, I twisted the top off my bottle of Pepsi and chugged. I would have preferred a Redbull energy drink but my school, unfortunately, doesn't supply those.

"Tired," I replied after some of the caffeine had entered my system.

Last night, instead of peacefully drifting off to sleep, I stayed up until the early morning hours running through all my memories of Blue Eyes, and each time I replayed our conversation during which I agreed to be Blue Eye's fake girlfriend I punched my pillow while muttering "stupid, stupid" into my mattress.

"Stay up studying?"

I gave Mercury a look that asked, "Since when do I stay up late studying?"

"Oh, that's right," she said with a smile, "I forgot whom I was talking to."

"Oh man!" Jupiter complained as she sat her lunch tray on the table in the vacant spot across from me. "I think I pulled my butt muscle somehow last night during the game. My ass is so sore it hurts to sit."

"Thanks, Jupiter, I will sleep better tonight knowing that," I deadpanned.

Jupiter grinned, "It's nice to know I will be in someone's dreams."

"More like nightmares," I mumbled.

Pretending she didn't hear, Jupiter asked, "What was that? I could have sworn someone weaker than me just made fun of me. Be careful or I'm going to make your ass match mine, and I don't think your new boyfriend would want a girl with a bruised bottom."

"New boyfriend?" Mercury asked, glancing up from her sub, "You have a boyfriend?"

Mercury looked hurt that I hadn't told her about my new "boyfriend," and I grimaced.

"You haven't told her yet?" Jupiter asked. She didn't let me answer her question, though. Instead she continued jabbering. "Well, it's probably better that I tell her anyway. You suck at telling stories—verbally, that is," she amended after I sent a glare her way to remind her about my planned future career.

Then Jupiter went on to tell Mercury about seeing Blue Eyes and me together at the soccer game in exaggerated and inaccurate words.

Once Jupiter was finished, I apologized, "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Mercury, but it takes some getting used to, and I kind of forgot."

Which is bullshit, of course. If Blue Eyes had been my real boyfriend and I hadn't been so embarrassed, the whole school would have known by now.

"It's all right," she told me, and I sighed in relief. I sighed too soon, however, because the next words out of her mouth were: "Now you have to tell me all the details."

Jupiter then made the situation more uncomfortable by adding, "Yeah, Bunny, how did you two go from butt-pinching to lip-smacking? Huh, huh? Come on, Bunny, how did yah?" Just to annoy me, Jupiter added eyebrow wiggles and a goofy grin that made her look like a doped up version of Bugs Bunny.

Knowing that I had to tell them something, I thought back to the night Blue Eyes had dinner over at my house.

"Well, uhm," I started nervously, "That night he came over with Arcade Dude, he was really nice even though he teased me—"

"Teasing is a sign that he found you attractive," Jupiter interrupted.

"—and I started to notice that he was kind of cute—"

"Duh."

"—and so when he came into the bookstore Tuesday, I think I might have kind of subconsciously flirted—"

"That's my girl!"

"—with him. I think he picked up on that, and he then asked what I was doing Wednesday night. I didn't want to miss your game Jupiter, so I told him about it. He asked to come, and at the time I really did think he was only looking to be friends."

I felt bad for lying, but then Jupiter got that superior look and her eyes and with a cocky tone she began, "First, I would have forgiven you for missing my game. Hell—sorry, Mercury—heck, I would have missed my own game just to spy on the both of you.

"And two, guys are never looking to be friends with girls. It is a common fact. That I-just-wanna-be-your-friend crap is just their way of wheedling their way into your life. You know, like a stray puppy. You see the puppy and think 'I can't afford to keep a dog, but I'll keep him just tonight and take him to the pound in the morning.' Well, you feed him and give him a bath, and then next thing you know he's sleeping in your bed."

Jupiter had never been more wrong.

"What a crude analogy," Mercury told Jupiter, after she wiped a bit of bread crumb from the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Turning to me, she then stated, "I think this guy sounds really nice. When do I get to meet him, Bunny?"

"Uhm, I don't know. Whenever, I guess."

"So, he goes to the same college as Venus's boyfriend. What's his major?"

For some reason, I never expected Mercury to be the one to give me the Third Degree, but there she was, staring at me with her big curious blue eyes. Maybe she really was just curious. Maybe she wanted to hear a little gossip. Whatever the reason, it unnerved me slightly. I mean, Mercury is so reserved, and, as far as I know, she doesn't have any interest in boys at the moment.

Not that I blame her, of course. If I was as smart as her, I'd have a hard time finding a suitable boy, too. Seriously, she's like a genius, or something. I bet she just hasn't found a man who isn't intimidated by her.

"He's majoring in architecture, but he's thinking about changing to landscape design."

"Interesting. Have you met his parents?"

"No, we just started dating." I almost choked on the last word. I continued, though, knowing Mercury would want me to elaborate. She is a stickler for details. "His mom is dead, and from what I hear, his dad is kind of overbearing."

"Oh, how sad. How old was he when his mother passed away?"

"Not quite sure, but I know he was old enough to read to her while she was in chemotherapy."

I realized then that I knew a lot about Blue Eyes, which wasn't all that disturbing. What was disturbing, however, was the knowledge that I knew more about Blue Eyes—who I'd only known for three days—than Arcade Dude.

Once I realized this, I felt a little strange. I felt guilty, almost like I had betrayed Arcade Dude by knowing so much about Blue Eyes. Silly, I know, but that was how I felt.

"Wow," Jupiter sighed, "he sounds like such a nice guy. Hot is good, but nice is a definite plus. Some people just get all the luck."

Mercury nodded in agreement, and I smiled weakly.

"Luck" wasn't exactly a term I would use in association with my current position. I couldn't tell them that, though.

From now on, I must be Miss Lovey-Dovey.

I must admit, however, that having a boyfriend—even a fake one—does have its perks.

Today after work, for example, Blue Eyes picked me up. I thought it was a sweet and completely unnecessary gesture, but he then informed me that it was time for us to start acting like a couple and really get our plan rolling.

So, instead of taking me directly home after work, we made a stop at the arcade where—you guessed it—Arcade Dude works. I was, of course, a little nervous, but Blue Eyes smiled and said, "Relax and just ignore him. Show him that your attention is no longer directed at him but at me instead."

"Is it that obvious that I like him?" I wanted to know.

"No, not really, but I think he will now notice that something is different. I mean, if you used to speak to him every chance you got he's going to will notice that you are no longer giving him the same amount of attention. He might even get extremely jealous."

I smiled at that. I have never been the cause of someone's jealousy, and I liked the idea that it would be Arcade Dude seeing the color green, a color—I am somewhat ashamed to admit—that I have seen a lot of over the past four months that my sister has been dating Arcade Dude.

Then as Blue Eyes parked his truck in the arcade parking lot, I suddenly had a disturbing thought. "Oh God, what if Venus is here?"

I desperately searched the parking lot for her car, hoping I wouldn't see it. I didn't spot her small Toyota, but that didn't mean she wouldn't show up later.

"So what if she's here?" Blue Eyes asked rhetorically as he removed the keys from the ignition. "It's actually better if she's here. Then, both of them get a chance to see us together and later speculate with each other the depth of our relationship."

I blinked. He seemed to have a point, but I was still worried. I mean, I was able to fake being in a relationship last night, but that was when Blue Eyes hadn't been around. Now, she would see how I interact with him, and I know what she's going to see: a sister who's up to something. Not a smitten girlfriend.

"I don't know if she will believe it. She knows me too well. I mean, the few guys that have asked me out I have turned down with the excuse that I didn't know them well enough."—Why the hell did I tell him that?— "I have known you for, like, three days!"

"Calm down, OK? We aren't going to be making out or anything drastic like that. We'll just hold hands and look like we're having a good time. Jeeze, get a grip and relax."

I had been fine until that moment—albeit somewhat panic stricken—but then Blue Eyes just had to push my buttons. "Get a grip? You knew I was a bad actress coming into this thing! You were, after all, the one who was able to tell I liked Arcade Dude!"

I then tensed, preparing to reflect any insult he hurled my way. He surprised me, however, by smiling and saying, "See, our first fight. Already we are acting like a real couple."

Stupefied, I allowed him to open the glass door for me, something only my Dad and random nice men had done for me until then, and as I crossed the threshold, he placed his hand in my lower back and steered me into the store.

The touch of his hand on my back immediately returned my mind to the present, and I quickly turned my face up so that I could look at his face, expecting to find a smirk that would suggest that the gesture had been another one of his tricks to take me off guard.

He wasn't looking at me, though, and I began to frown as I looked up at his profile. When he still didn't glance in my direction, I chose to continue being mad at him because being mad suddenly felt good.

I decided I was mad at the situation. I was mad at Venus for dating Arcade Dude. I was mad at Arcade Dude for not noticing me. I was mad at Jupiter for making a bigger deal out of my having a boyfriend than necessary. Hell, I decided to be mad at the world simply because it sounded cool. But most of all, I decided, I was mad at Blue Eyes for making fun of me.

The jerk.

Then, of course, just as I was in the middle sticking pushpins into the flesh of my mental Blue Eye's voodoo doll, he leaned close and whispered in my ear, "You keep frowning like that and you'll have wrinkles by the time you graduate."

Miffed, I ignored the shiver that went through me when his warm breath hit my ear and heatedly whispered back to him, "I thought you said there wouldn't be any physical contact other than hand holding."

"What?" he innocently asked. "I'm just whispering to you."

Yeah, I thought, whispering way too close to my ear.

"Cut it out," I said instead. "You know what it looks like."

"And what does it look like?" He asked.

It was then that I noticed that we had stopped moving and were standing in the middle of the arcade. Subconsciously, I had shifted my position so that I was standing in front of him, our chests almost touching so that I could hear his whispered words and so that he could see me glare at him.

"Jerk," I muttered to him, and he laughed.

Loudly.

And for a very long time.

The jerk.

"Shhh," I tried to get him to stop. "People are looking."

He quickly sobered up and asked, "What about Arcade Dude? Is he looking?"

Nonchalantly, I turned my head slightly and saw that Arcade Dude was, indeed, staring in our direction. He was behind the counter in the diner section of the arcade, a perplexed look on his face.

"Yeah," I trailed off somewhat confused.

"Good, then it worked."

It was then that I realized that everything he had done up until that point was with the explicit intention of getting Arcade Dude to notice us together, and his plan had apparently worked.

Begrudgingly, I had to give him credit, but I was still annoyed enough with him that I continued to poke pins into my mental voodoo doll of him. Admittedly, I had lost enough of my anger that I was no longer aiming the pins at his groin area.

"Jerk," I mumbled again for good measure. I couldn't let him think he was off the hook entirely.

He just smiled, though, and led me to a table that was in prime viewing range of Arcade Dude. "Wait here. I'll go get something to eat from Arcade Dude and fuel the fire. What would you like?"

I thought it was nice that he offered to get me something to eat, but I suspected that it was just him settling into the role of "fake boyfriend." Feeling wicked, however, I smiled and gave him a long list of items.

He gave me a pained look (probably thinking about his bank account), and I finally took pity on him and asked for a cookies & cream milkshake. He left me sitting in the booth to, pretty much, twiddle my thumbs.

Looking around, I noticed the claw machine sitting innocently in the corner and decided it would be more entertaining than drawing fingerprint pictures on the table. As I approached the claw machine I dug around in my purse, looking for my wallet. I put two quarters in the machine and maneuvered the claw around, trying to get it in the proper position for scooping up the stuffed Garfield toy that I've had my eye on for the past week.

My cell phone rang, and I went ahead and pressed the button to release the claw. I watched the claw's slow decent as I retrieved my phone and cut off the Scooby Doo theme.

"Y'ello?" I asked into the receiver as I fed the machine two more quarters.

"Hey. What are you doing?" It was Jupiter.

"Trying to save Garfield from suffocation at the hand of a claw machine."

"Well, you keep doing that, and I'll tell you what happened after seventh."

I was on my third set fifty cents and in the middle of listening to Jupiter tell me about some girl I don't really know who hit on Jupiter's current crush, when Blue Eyes joined me at the claw machine.

"Having trouble?" He asked.

"So then she laughed some freaking helium laugh and—Who the heck is that?" Jupiter asked in my ear.

I blinked at Blue Eyes, and answered Jupiter, "Its, uh…um…"

"Oh, I didn't know you were on the phone," He apologized.

"Oh, man! Is that Blue Eyes? Are you guys on a date?" Jupiter demanded over the airwaves.

"I'll call you back," I told her and ended the call.

"You didn't need to hang up because of me," Blue Eyes said, looking sincere.

"We were about to hang up anyway," I lied, thinking it would be rather awkward if I told him he had become the subject of our conversation.

"Oh, well," he looked through the glass of the claw machine. "Which one are you after?"

"Garfield."

I looked in the machine at all the stuffed animals and realized that the timer had run out on my last fifty cents, and the claw had dropped and retracted without picking anything up.

"Cat person, are yah?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "Dogs are too jointy."

"Never heard that one before. 'Course, cats do seem to have a flexibility that dogs just don't have. Hold these, will yah?"

He handed me the milkshakes before reaching into his pocket and pulling out some change, which he then slipped into the machine. Since he hadn't been looking at me while getting the quarters, I watched the movement of his hand from his pocket, to the change slot, to the joystick. Then as he continued talking, I watched the movement of the claw at the top of the machine.

"I'm more of a dog person myself, but I guess that's because they're all my family has ever owned. Besides, you can train a dog to do more than a cat, which is hard enough to train to go to the litter pan." He pressed the button, and the claw began to drop. "You can get a dog to walk on a leash and retrieve a tennis ball. A cat can't get its mouth around a tennis ball."

The claw grabbed a hold of Garfield and hefted him through the air to the shoot. Blue Eyes opened the door and retrieved the toy. Dumbfounded, I stared at the orange cat in his hand and reached for it.

"Thanks," I smiled tentatively.

"No problem. My mom used to make me go with my dad for his weekly bowling game with his friends. You know, boys night out. My dad and his friends, though, liked to play competitively against another group that always played the same night. Bets were made, and he didn't want a beginner to mess up his team's score." Blue Eyes leaned against the claw machine, and I wrapped my arms around my new toy. "So, I would go to the game room and blow a week's worth of allowance on the claw machine retrieving stuffed animals for cute girls."

He winked and straightened away from the machine.

I then opened my mouth to say something. I don't know what. Probably something light hearted to break the short silence and banish the rueful tone that had been in his voice.

I couldn't be mad at him after that. It just wouldn't be fair. I mean, the guy got me a blasted Garfield toy and a milkshake.

I hope Arcade Dude will act the same way when we are going out. What am I saying? Of course he will. He's a perfect gentleman. After all, Venus wouldn't date a jerk.

Oh! Speaking of Venus, she says Jupiter is on the phone. Guess she couldn't wait until tomorrow to finish our previous phone conversation.

So, long story short: I don't really know if our play at the arcade today worked or not, but I think we progressed some, especially after Venus showed up at the arcade. Now, I have to tell my parents that I'm "dating" Blue Eyes, and I have no idea about how I'm supposed to do that. They know I'm not the kind of daughter to date a guy after knowing him a few days.

What do I do, World?

Bunny

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/22/04-7:42 PMeastern

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Response: LastBREATH

Wow. I wish I went to school with you. You and your friends all sound like a lot of fun. Is your friend Jupiter really that goofy?

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Response: JoshIsMINE

Aww. One of my fantasy dates involves going to a fair and having a guy (preferably my Joshie-poo) winning me a stuffed animal. You know, one of those really big ones that have to be carried around over your shoulder because if you hold them in your arms they drag the ground? Anyway, you may not have been at the fair but it was still very cute. You're so lucky.

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Response: OoInstantCOFFEEoO

Do you realize that the title of your diary is a total rip-off of that book that became a movie?

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Response: SeXyZbAbaE

It's nice to know you've got a backbone, girl. You say that you've never really been good at relationships, but you are obviously a fast learner when it comes to handling your man. You gotta keep him on his toes, and you did that today by doing the whole "I'm-mad-at-you-so-what-are-you-going-to-do-to-get-me-to-like-you-again" bit. Keep up the good work!

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Response: AniIZmyLeADer

Yes, he is a jerk. All men are jerks.

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Response: IH8Dis

You know, I bet Arcade Dude would notice you if you became a slut. It's worth a try.

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**ONLINE DIARIEZ**** . ORG**

_(where freedom of thought rulez)_

**Diary:** Useless Information

**User:** GreenThumbs

4/22/04

11:04 PM eastern

I decided to move ahead with Operation Expose Andrew today. So, at six o'clock this afternoon I went to the bookstore and picked Serena up. Then I took her to the arcade where Andrew works. I told her it was time to kick our plan into high gear.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the arcade, though, she got cold feet. She didn't have a lot of confidence in her acting skills and she shouldn't. She's a horrible actress, but I didn't tell her that, of course.

Instead I lied through my teeth when she asked me whether or not it was obvious that she liked Andrew. She might as well have burst out into song every time he entered the room it was so plainly written on her face, but I couldn't tell her that. In order for my plan to work she had to believe that I needed her to pretend to be my girlfriend, and she wouldn't do that unless she thought she was a great actress.

So I lied to her.

I feel bad about it, but I'll feel better once I have enlightened her to the reality of Andrew's personality.

Just when I thought I had her calmed down, though, she freaked out again, worried that her sister might be at the arcade. Apparently, even though her relationship with her sister is distant enough that Serena is willing to steal Mina's boyfriend, they are still close enough that Mina could—according to Serena—tell when Serena is faking a kiss.

Then, she started to panic over the prospect of kissing me. I tried not to take offence. I know she wasn't repulsed by the idea of kissing me as much as she was afraid our kiss would be unbelievable, but I still felt a tiny bit perturbed.

Some of my annoyance leaked through to my words when I told Serena, "Calm down, OK? We aren't going to be making out or anything drastic like that. We'll just hold hands and look like we're having a good time. Jeeze, get a grip and relax."

After that, I got to see Serena when she was mad. It was actually a rather interesting experience. Up until that point, I had somewhat idealized Serena as Mina's cute and happy younger sister. It was also disconcerting because I realized that, even though our relationship was a fake one, we had moved ahead. It meant we'd moved past our ingrained Southern hospitality designated for strangers and that we were now comfortable around each other to the extent that we could openly be mad at each other instead of silently cursing each other behind our backs.

We're friends now.

After that that epiphany, I couldn't quite take her anger seriously. So, instead of lashing back at her, which is what I think she wanted me to do, I grinned and told her, "See, our first fight. Already we are acting like a real couple."

She glared and me and didn't say anything. I think she was trying to look menacing, but it didn't work. Instead, she looked kind of adorable with her eyes exaggeratedly squinted and her lips puckered in a frown.

Since she looked so cute mad, I hoped to prod her a little and see what she would do if I continued to wheedle her. So I informed her, leaning close her ear, that she would get wrinkles if she continued to frown.

"I thought you said there wouldn't be any physical contact other than hand holding," she said in reply.

It took me a moment to think of a response. She uses a nice smelling shampoo and it was quite distracting.

"What?" I asked. "I'm just whispering to you."

She shifted her position so that she was facing me. "Cut it out. You know what it looks like," she said through pursed lips.

Enjoying the banter, I pressed on. "And what does it look like?"

I knew exactly what it looked like, of course. It had been unintentional, but we had both moved so it looked as though we were having an intimate conversation. In reality we may have been exchanging insults, but to everyone else in the room it looked as though we were confessing our love to each other or something.

I must admit, though, that I enjoyed the moment. Serena is short, maybe five-three, and next to her I felt very masculine, something I found to be quite pleasant. A part of me wanted to put my arm around her waist just see how it would feel, but I restrained myself. She was looking for a fight and touching her at that particular moment would have sent her over the edge, thus blowing our cover.

Eventually, Serena realized how intimate our position looked and put the blame entirely on me. I didn't bother to correct her, even after she called me a jerk.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Andrew behind the counter of the arcade, and I could tell that he was looking in our approximate location. I realized then that our situation was very reminiscent to romantic comedies. Normally, this would be the part of the movie where the male lead would kiss the leading female, knowing it would make the on-looking male character jealous.

I knew that if I had suddenly locked lips with Serena in her current mood she'd likely deck me in the face. So I laughed instead, realizing that our current pose could work to our advantage the same way a kiss might.

Sometimes a shared joke is just as intimate as a kiss.

It wasn't hard to fake a laugh, considering I found our whole predicament amusing. Once I started laughing, however, I couldn't seem to stop. Looking back on everything, I'm afraid I may have sounded a bit hysterical. For some reason, as soon as I started to laugh, the image of Serena blushing and running away after she pinched my ass entered my mind. Then I thought of the time she fell down the stairs at her house.

Suddenly, I found everything about Serena amusing, even the panicked look on her face when she whispered, "People are looking."

Realizing that I had been laughing for perhaps a bit too long, I bit my tongue to suppress the chuckles.

I remembered my original reason for laughing and asked Serena, "What about Andrew? Is he looking?"

She glanced around and spotted Andrew.

"Yeah," she said in tone that suggested she had no idea where our conversation was leading.

"Good, then it worked."

She looked confused for a few moments before I saw enlightenment in her expressive eyes. Then they narrowed. "Jerk," she muttered.

After that we migrated to the diner area of the arcade, and I offered to buy her something to eat. Still peeved about what I had just done, Serena gave me a long grocery list of items. She even had the gumption to ask for a puppy and botox surgery to fix the new wrinkles that I had apparently given her.

At first I thought she was serious. I was afraid I was really going to have to go out and buy her a puppy in order to get her to continue with my plan, but then smiled and asked for a milkshake.

Boy was I relieved.

When I reached the counter, Andrew appeared to be waiting.

"What the hell are you doing here with her, man? You only had to distract her for one night. Don't think I'm paying you or anything."

That's Andrew. The world always revolves around his ass.

Instead, I raised my eyebrows and calmly explained, "I'm not distracting her."

"Of course you're not," he said sarcastically, "If you were doing a decent job of it you wouldn't have brought her here."

"Look, Andrew, can I have a cookies-and-cream milkshake and a chocolate milkshake?"

I have no idea why Mina is dating this guy.

"Sure, whatever," he replied before going to make the shakes.

As I waited for him to return, I leaned my back against the high countertop and turned my head so that I could see the booth where Serena and I had decided to sit. She wasn't seated where I had left her, however, and after a quick scan of the arcade I spotted her at the claw machine. I smiled slightly.

Somehow, I wasn't surprised to find her going after some stuffed animal. In fact, I bet she has a ton of them piled on her bed and every night she has to remove them as a part of her nightly bedtime ritual. It'd be a bitch to have to sleep on all of them.

As I was imagining the mound of plushies and stuffed animals, a voice from behind me asked, "So you're here with Mina's little sister?"

I turned around to find Jamie, one of the other arcade workers talking to me. I don't really know much about Jamie other than his name and the fact that he is still in high school. I think we once had a brief conversation about band that had been playing over the arcade's stereo system.

"Yup."

"Oh. I go to school with her and her sister. Mina and I are in the same grade."

I nodded my head, wondering what his hidden motive was for talking to me. Guys just don't go up to other guys they aren't friends with just for the sole purpose of striking up a conversation unless they are bored and happen to be the only two people in the room, and considering Jamie was at work, I doubt he was bored. Whatever this guy wanted to know, I realized, he would get around to asking me about it if he really wanted the information.

"So, how do you know Serena?"

Does this guy like Serena? I wondered, feeling suddenly bad. If this guy had a crush on her I was in his way, and I didn't truthfully or fairly have claim on her. I had to suppress my guilt, though, because Andrew was approaching, and I couldn't very well tell Jamie the truth with Andrew in earshot.

"We're dating," I said casually but loud enough so that Andrew could hear.

He heard.

"What?" he asked, disbelief etched in every one of his facial features. "Your dating Mina's annoying sister? No fucking way!"

Oddly enough, Jamie didn't appear disappointed. He looked relieved, if anything. Then, of course, he directed an annoyed look towards Andrew. Apparently, Jamie doesn't approve of his co-worker.

So, Serena's dating status wasn't what Jamie was fishing for. Briefly, I wondered what he had wanted to ask me, but dismissed it once I realized I was never going to find out. Not with Andrew around, at least.

"Yeah, we're dating."

"Since when? Why didn't I know about it?"

"Since a few a days ago, and it's not like I've seen a whole lot of you between then and now because—you know..." I shrugged, letting the sentence trail off. The "you know" of course being the fact that he has spent the past few nights in the dorm room of a girl on campus.

He didn't seem the least bit guilty, however, and he continued to discuss Serena. "Dude, I asked you to get her off my back for one night. I didn't say date her!"

Speaking the truth, I told him, "She's not as annoying as you make her out to be."

"That's easy for you to say. She doesn't follow you around like a sick puppy dog."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that now, will you?"

"You really think she's gonna stop being in love with me just like that—" he snapped his fingers, "—just because she's been going out with you for two days? Get real. What makes you think she's gonna stick around?"

God's infinite creations: the Universe and Andrew's ego.

I wanted to tell him about how nice Serena is. How intelligent she is. Explain to him that she only idolized him, not loved him, but I realized that Andrew would only laugh. He would just view me as being some pathetic freshman with some equally pathetic girlfriend. In the end, Andrew would get burned by my plan, but at that moment as I watched him gloat, thinking that I was stupid for dating a girl who he believed was in love with him, I couldn't resist getting the last word.

So, hopping he would understand the unspoken insult, I gave him a small smile and said, "She's devoted, unlike some people I know."

Then, before Andrew could retaliate, I put some money on the counter and raised my milkshakes towards Jamie as I said, "Nice talking you." I wonder if Jamie figured out that Andrew was cheating on Mina after eavesdropping on our conversation.

I like to think so.

Inwardly euphoric, I approached Serena, who was still at the claw machines, trying unsuccessfully to win a stuffed toy.

"Having trouble?" I teasingly asked. Then I realized she was on the phone and immediately felt stupid.

I told her I was sorry, but she hung up anyway. Apparently, she was talking to her friend from last night, and I could tell that she was immediately reminded of our first meeting because she began to blush.

Hoping to put her at ease, I asked her to point out the toy she had been going for. Then, after handing her the milkshakes, I inserted money into the machine and won her the Garfield toy.

Claw machines have been a specialty of mine ever since I was a kid and my dad used to take weekly trips to the bowling alley. Dad would rarely let me bowl with him on his team, so I usually went to the small game room and blew my allowance on stuffed animals that I would eventually give away to anyone who wanted one. I'd save a few for my mom, though, and she would display them in one of our guest rooms like soft, cuddly trophies. Later, when mom went through chemotherapy, she'd take her favorite one (a soft pink bunny) with her to hold on to during the procedure.

For some reason, I'd never like the fact that she'd brought the rabbit with her. Looking back on it, I think I'd hated how she had looked like an innocent little child holding it in her arms. She was supposed to be the adult, but during those sessions, I'd been forced to realize that I was growing up.

There is always a point in time when a child takes on the role of parent for his mom and dad, but I had to fill that position long before I was ready, long before my mom was gray and wrinkled.

After I retrieved the toy for her, Serena gave me a beatific smile, and the cloud over my head dissipated. I was relieved that she was no longer pissed at me.

We then returned to our booth to finish our shakes. Serena sat the Garfield toy on the table, and periodically she would reach out to touch it, pose it differently. During a lull in our conversation about college life versus high school life the Macarena song started to play over the arcade stereo system. Smiling, Serena grabbed Garfield and began moving his short, stubby arms in a barely recognizable reenactment of the Macarena dance. We laughed, and our conversation quickly switched to music that was popular back when we were in elementary school and middle school.

Neither of us could sing, so I'm sure we got strange looks whenever we simultaneously burst out singing the lyrics of songs like "Scrubs," the "Chumba Wumba Song," "Mmmbop," and "I Believe I Can Fly." I don't care if people were looking at us as though we were crazy. I was having fun, and that's all that mattered.

We were so deep into our conversation that neither of us noticed Mina walk through the doors of the arcade and approach us.

"Hey guys," she said when she reached us, and Serena and I both jumped slightly at her intrusion.

Serena quickly lost her smile, and I could tell she was on the verge of panicking. Under the table I gave her foot a nudge, trying to remind her that it was no big deal.

"Hey, Mina, what are you doing here?" Serena asked with an obviously forced smile. Mina, hopefully, just thought her sister was pissed that her "date" was interrupted.

Mina nodded her head at the counter where Andrew was still serving customers. "Andrew's shift ends in a few minutes, and I wanted to see if he would like to go see a movie. If we go, you're welcome to join us. Aww, we could double date!"

From across the table, I watched Serena's face drain of color. Luckily, I had a legitimate excuse to give Mina and save Serena.

"I'd love to go," I lied before adding a bit of truth, "but I have to work tonight at seven-thirty."

Relieved that she didn't have to go on a double date with her sister and Andrew, Serena regained some of her confidence. She gave an exaggerated pout and said, "Oh, poo. And we were having so much fun."

"Well, tomorrow night I have to work again, but I'm free Saturday and Sunday night. Why don't we do something then?"

I meant just Serena and me, but Mina grew excited. "Oh, yes! Andrew and I were planning to go to this poetry thing Saturday. You and Serena are welcome to come with us."

Serena blinked. "Poetry? You hate poetry."

Mina smiled. "Mr. Frost, my English teacher, is going to be there. He said he'd give us extra credit on our exam if he sees us there."

Mr. Frost? An English teacher? I paused to absorb the irony before focusing on the conversation again.

"Oh." Serena looked at me, and I shrugged. "I guess we'll see when Saturday arrives," she said diplomatically.

"Kay, but Darien, you'll come for Sunday dinner at our house again, won't you?"

"Sure," I said, knowing I couldn't be as evasive with my answer that time.

"See you then," Mina said and left Serena and I alone to stare at each other.

"I haven't told my parent's yet that I'm dating you," she commented, bending her fingers in the universal sign of quotation marks as she said the word _dating_.

Laughing, I told her that she better tell them tonight.

"The thing is, my parents might find it uncharacteristic for me to start dating a guy after only knowing him for four days."

I shrugged, "We can put on a cute act that will have them believing we were meant to be together."

"My dad might kill you."

"Your dad seemed nice to me the other night."

"That's when you weren't dating me."

"He seemed fine with Andrew dating Mina."

"Mina's different. She's had boyfriends since she was in middle school. I, however, am Daddy's Baby Girl, who is too naïve and inexperienced to know how to defend herself from evil boys only out to break my fragile heart."

"You must be exaggerating."

"I'm not," she protested.

"Then why are you smiling?" I asked, feeling afraid for the first time.

"I'm picturing Dad sitting on the couch, polishing his favorite gun as the light from the TV reflects off his glasses so that you can't see his eyes."

"Vivid imagination you've got there. No wonder you want to be a writer. So where am I in this vision?"

Serena smiled, both at my praise and at her next words. "You're cowering in the corner, of course."

After that, I took her home because I had to go to work, which sucked. Not only was business extremely busy tonight, but I also got stuck training the new girl who was a PMSing bitch to me and the customers.

Raye, who also worked tonight, kept shooting me sympathetic glances, which did not help my situation any. The girl won't last long. Our boss is an overly cheerful person who loves people and loves talking to people. He's like Santa Claus on crack, and as soon as he catches wind of this girl being a bitch to customers, she'll be looking for a new job.

When I arrived back at the dorm, Andrew was in the room, which was kind of surprising. I guess his date with Mina didn't last too long. He was on his computer when I came in, and he pretty much ignored me the rest of the night.

I guess he was still pissed at me after what I said at the arcade. I feel all warm inside knowing I was the cause of his anger.

You know the little angle and devil often shown in cartoons as representing a character's conscience? Well, right now my little devil is brake dancing in celebration on my right shoulder while my little angel is loafing on the couch, playing his X BOX360 because he secretly believes there is no reason to stop me from my plan since he, too, thinks Andrew is an asshole.

Asshole Andrew. Hmm… It has a nice ring to it.

I never realized before now how deviant I can be at times.

Feels good.

Today's Useless Information: There are at least two golf balls sitting on the moon.

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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenThumbs-4/22/04-11:04 PMeastern

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Response: SPEWyou

Ok, you've got to tell me. What is so fascinating about blondes? I mean, this Serena girl is blonde and so is his sister. You've said that both are pretty, cute, etc., but what about Serena's friend, huh? What about Raye? Why don't you call them pretty? Uhg, sorry. My boyfriend dumped me for a blonde. I'm still pissed.

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xtreamSK8ERdude responded to SPEWyou:

Blondes and red heads are exotic, but blondes can actually get a tan. And you can't say that girls don't do the same thing, because I know for a fact that girls prefer taller guys. What about the short guys, huh?

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Response: xtreamSK8ERdude

A stuffed animal? Dude, that's lame.

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Response: NYsubwayMan

You know, your roommate seemed to act a little too weird after hearing about you dating his girlfriend's sister. I think he's jealous because Serena's not going to shower him with attention anymore. Better watch your back, bud.

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Response: oOcoffeeaddictOo

You know, I really do think you have a crush on this Serena girl. Maybe, after you expose Andrew, you will hook up with her. Heck, you're already her friend. Next step: more than friends.

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Response: IH8Dis

Welcome to the Darkside. You can join Satan and Bart Simpson on the couch, but be careful not to step on any weapons of mass destruction that may or may not be lying around.

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